


Push to Talk

by alexjosten



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Reverse Big Bang 2019, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dialogue Heavy, Firewatch au, Flirting, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Neil Josten, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Raven Neil Josten, Slow Burn, no Firewatch knowledge required to read this fic (and no FW spoilers inside!), plant nerd andrew memeyard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 15:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexjosten/pseuds/alexjosten
Summary: Neil needs a fresh start. He has a new name and a new job in the middle of nowhere, miles away from anything to do with Exy. The only person he speaks to is Andrew, who knows nothing about him... until Neil's past catches up with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neyu/gifts).



> Hey guys, it's here!! Three months in the making, here's my fic for the 2019 AFTG Reverse Big Bang.
> 
> This story is inspired by [Neyu's Firewatch AU prompt](http://requiemofkings.tumblr.com/post/183309786175/ahhhh-hello-im-here-with-a-firewatch-au-with-the). There are **no spoilers** for the game in this fic, as the plot diverges very heavily and only uses the setting and a small handful of scenes and dialogue from the game. You don't need to have played the game or know anything about it to enjoy this fic. :)
> 
> This story is complete and I'll be updating regularly on Wednesdays and Sundays.

 

 

****

 

 

**Day 0**

 

Dusk settles on the trees like clay powder, dusting the evergreens with a red tint. Stars will soon peek out from under night’s blanket, and the tower is nowhere in sight. Under the knitted patchwork of trees above him, it is so dark that he cannot see his feet. The moon extends her helping hand to guide him out into a clearing.

Here, Neil can see. But also, he can be seen.

The whistling wind is his only companion, but he knows he is not alone in the darkness.

Blades of grass gently kiss his knees as he kneels to slip his backpack off. He ignores his sleeping bag and the strict instructions to camp at nightfall and continue during the day. Instead, he finds his flashlight. He gives the sleepy batteries two firm smacks with the heel of his hand, and it flickers awake.

The artificial slice of light pouring from his hand paints the world at its edges an inky obsidian. He concentrates on the moss and junipers as he picks his way through the woods. If he’s not careful, the black dirt beneath his feet could bleed crimson. The exact combination of colours he came out here to avoid.

-

Dawn rises so gradually that Neil isn’t really sure whether he’s just adjusted to the darkness, or if his eyes are playing tricks on him. Cheerful chirps from the treetops convince him the sun has actually woken up. His pounding temples urge him to sleep, but his rabbiting heart is still attempting to sprint a marathon. Buttermilk rays whisk the shadows of leaves into a dance on the forest floor beneath his feet. His flashlight is rendered useless, so he only pauses long enough to click it off and put it away.

-

The afternoon sun feels like the first warm touch Neil can remember. He stops in a clearing and closes his eyes, tilting his face up to feel its warmth. The chill of the night ebbs away and the simplicity of the comfort tugs at his mouth. He thinks he might be smiling.

When he opens his eyes, he finally sees it: the silhouette of a lookout tower perched on the horizon.

His new home.

-

Neil almost regrets his decision to come here when he finishes scaling the one hundred and thirty wooden steps up to his new roost. The irony of calling it that in his head isn’t lost on him, and he vows to avoid that comparison again. The windows are boarded up and when he jimmies the door open to his new cabin in the sky, a strip of amber sun warns him not to step inside the otherwise dark room.

He places his pack in the doorway and begins the task of prying the splintering planks off of the windows. Determination wins out over exhaustion, but only barely. Some of the boards pop off easily; some of them resist removal so resolutely that once they finally break, it sends Neil reeling back into the rickety wooden bannister rimming the edges of the tower.

The board that was once in his hands plummets down a hundred feet. One dizzying glance at its splintered corpse makes him remove the rest with more caution.

Once the windows are bare, the shack floods with daylight from all four sides. Only then does he dare to enter.

Mocha floorboards squeak under his shoes, chipped edges worn smooth from years of use. Cream walls line the interior and a few weathered patches show it had been previously painted an eggshell blue. What’s unique about the place is that the wooden walls only rise to waist height, at which point they turn into windows. Neil feels a bit like he’s in a fishbowl. It’s as exposing as it is freeing. He can’t feel trapped when he can see for miles every way he turns.

The north wall hosts a key lime pie countertop straight out of the sixties. An electric stove and a cast iron furnace sit in the corner and Neil can’t help but be surprised that they’re even allowed in here, considering what he’s here to do.

A faded oak desk and a wobbly chair line the east wall, a few wrinkled boxes dumped on top with _Supplies for Foxtrot_ scrawled on them in bold sharpie. An orange radio waits patiently next to a dusty pinecone. The west wall has an inviting looking single bed. Mint green sheets, a dated floral pillow and a warm looking patchwork quilt lay folded on top, and he’s not even sure he has enough energy to make up the bed before passing out on it. In the very center of the room sits a pedestal with some sort of old device and a round-shaped map on it. He’s too tired to investigate it further.

The bed creaks under his weight as he sits down to toe off his boots. The cabin is only seven foot square but it’s more space than Neil has ever had to call his own. To him, it’s paradise.

-

Neil wakes with a jolt when he hears a voice in his room.

“Foxtrot Tower, come in.”

He’s on his feet before he’s fully awake. A quick scan of his barren room tells him he’s alone. The sun is still painting his room in light but it’s brushing the edge of the horizon, so he calculates he maybe napped for a few hours.

“Foxtrot Tower, pick up your damn radio.”

It’s the radio on his desk. He crosses the room in three short steps and swipes it up. He turns the cheap plastic in his hands over once before figuring out where the push to talk button is. He holds it down and speaks.

“Hi, this is Foxtrot Tower.”

“You’re early. Nobody arrives before nightfall. It’s a two day hike.”

Neil drags out the chair and wearily lowers his body into it. He stretches out his sore legs.

“I’m aware of that.”

“So what, did you run here? That eager for a life of solitude?”

“I didn’t camp last night.”

“You’re insane. But I guess that’s not a surprise, considering the type of person this job attracts.”

“That says a lot about you.”

“Perhaps.” The voice agrees easily. Neil’s lip quirks.

“You’re Andrew, right?”

“Yup.” Neil can hear him popping the P even over the crackle of the speaker. “And you’re Neil. Glad to hear you’re literate enough to have read the dossier.”

“What, some people take this job and they don’t?”

“You’d be surprised how many hippie types this job attracts. You’re either out here because you want to be one with the forest, or you’re running away from something. So, which one are you?”

“I regret to inform you that I shower regularly. I’m going to have to scratch out column A.”

“Well, that’s a relief. So what’s wrong with you?”

“Why don’t you start?” Neil deflects.

“Presumptuous. I’m one of the tree folk. I can name over three hundred different species of plants.”

“Somehow I doubt that, considering your disdain for ‘hippie types’.”

“You caught me, officer. Now what are you going to do to me?” Andrew’s tone is playful. Neil thinks it might even be flirtatious, but he doesn’t care enough right now to find out.

“I’m going to hang up on you and go back to sleep.”

“Not so fast. Here, I’ll give you a free one. If you guess right, I’ll let you go.”

Neil groans and rubs his face to think. He knows nothing about Andrew; his introductory dossier merely stated that he would be his supervisor during his three month stay out here in Shoshone National Forest as a fire lookout. It didn't even list his last name. He takes a wild stab in the dark.

“You’re a recovering pyromaniac, repenting for the tragic accident you caused which led to your family home burning down with your parents inside. You watch the sky for smoke every day, desperately praying your newfound diligence can prevent more unnecessary death.”

“Mmm, very creative. You got one thing right, but the rest isn’t even close. Better luck next time.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Okay. Goodnight.”

Andrew ignores his plea for sleep and continues. “Okay, let’s see… I don’t know anything about you. But nine times out of ten, people come out here just to get over a bad break-up.”

“Really?” Neil hopes his exasperation is clear.

“Am I right?”

He sighs. “Goodnight, Andrew.”

“Goodnight, Neil. Welcome to the job.”

The sky slips into a more comfortable pink, the sun laying down to rest amongst the mountains. Neil clicks on the desk lamp to keep him company during the night, and goes back to bed.

-

**Day 1**

 

Neil’s legs are jumpy when he wakes, so he calms them by going for a run. Emerald and jade leaves sparkle in the sunlight as he whips by them. Early birds sing to him from the tree tops, invisible amongst the twigs. The earth coughs up loose dry soil as his shoes slap its back.

He slows when he spots a doe in the distance. Carefully, he removes his polaroid camera to line up a shot. The flash and the whir of the photo printing startles her. She gallops off in parallel with Neil’s path, and he tries to race with her until she veers into the underbrush. He only pauses long enough to put his camera and the print away, then he continues his jog.

By the time he’s finished, he’s sweatier and dirtier than any intense cardio he’s ever done in the confines of the stadium gym.

He loves it.

His tower doesn’t have running water, the shoddy outhouse twenty feet away from the base the closest thing he has to plumbing. He can see why Andrew stereotypes the people who take on this job. He wonders if Andrew’s tower has any running water, and he’d ask him if he had his radio with him, but he doesn’t.

Neil can hear the gurgle of a stream, and he follows his ears until he finds its source. There’s a shallow rock pool and a stout waterfall. He scoops a hand into the water and rinses off his face, and waits until his heart steadies from his run. Then he strips off and steps into the pool. It’s deeper than he expects, and he sinks in until the chilly water comes up to his waist. Goosebumps pepper his skin and he rubs his arms to stave off a shiver as he ducks his head under the flow of water.

He’s absolutely frozen by the time he comes out, and his teeth are chattering as he tugs on his sweat damp clothes. He makes a note to bring a change of clothes and a towel with him tomorrow.

-

He’s dry again by the time he gets back, thanks to a morning gust pawing at his hair and clothes as he climbs the steps to his tower. He can hear a faint beeping when he gets back into his cabin, and he follows the noise until he finds his radio. He left it off the dock after talking to Andrew last night, and there’s a blinking light next to the battery icon.

He plugs it in and walks away to get changed into fresh clothes, and then busies himself with unpacking his boxes of supplies. He’s just placing his last can of tinned beans away in the dusty cupboards when his radio hums to life.

“Neil, for fucks sake, pick up your radio already.”

Andrew sounds agitated. Neil doesn’t make him wait any longer than he needs to.

“What’s up?”

“Jesus. Why weren’t you answering?”

“Battery was dead.”

“I thought _you_ were dead.”

“Dramatic.”

“No, realistic. I saw you leave your tower three hours ago, and you didn’t answer once.”

Neil nearly drops the radio as the sensation of being watched crawls over his skin. He glances up from his desk and looks out the window. He can’t see another tower, so he pushes out the front door and starts to walk along the balcony surrounding his cabin, peering into the distance. He shakily presses his radio button.

“You can see me?”

“Barely. You need binoculars, and even then you were mostly just a human-ish speck in the distance moving down the stairs. What spooked you?”

“Nothing spooked me. I just went for a run.”

“Without your radio?”

“Why would I need my radio to go on a run?”

“So you can call for help. You know, in case you trip down a shale cliff, get chased by a bear, or are kidnapped and murdered. The usual stuff.”

“None of that actually happens.”

“You’d be surprised. Ever wonder what happened to the last lookout from Foxtrot Tower?”

“If you’re trying to tell me this place is haunted, don’t even bother.”

“He worked here for three summers in a row before he mysteriously vanished.”

“By vanished, do you mean he got fed up of working with you and moved home?”

“Maybe. I hope so.”

Andrew’s sombre tone makes Neil pause.

“Anyway, what did you want?” Neil asks.

“It’s your first day. I need to teach you the ropes. Head back inside.”

Neil lifts a middle finger to the wind before replying: “Stop watching me.”

“It’s our job to watch the horizon, Neil. It’s not my fault you’re on mine.”

Neil relents and goes back inside. Andrew speaks up as soon as the door swings shut behind him.

“Okay, good. Do you know how to use your Fire Finder?”

“My what?”

“Thought as much. Everyone signs up for the job without bothering to research what they’re going to do. You see that thing in the middle of your room?”

“It’s kind of hard to miss. What is it?”

“It’s a type of alidade called an Osborne Fire Finder.”

Neil moves over to the plinth and takes a closer look. Sitting on top of the stand is a round disc, made up of a metal base, a round topographical map of the surrounding area, and a glass cover. On the North and South sides of the map are two brass protrusions with ruler markings on them. When Neil touches one to investigate it, the round layer between the metal base and the map rotates to the side.

Andrew explains: “We use it for getting a more accurate directional bearing on where smoke is rising from. It also lets us track lightning strikes at night when you can’t see geographical landmarks. We take the readings from our two towers and intersect the results to get the precise location of the fire, then we call in dispatch to put it out. Easy, right?”

“Right…” Neil bats the device and it spins around cluelessly. “How exactly does this antique help me judge distance?”

“I’ll show you.”

Andrew spends the afternoon instructing Neil over the radio on how to use his Fire Finder and how to fill in his log books. It turns out firewatching is a full time gig. He has to track things like the state of the weather, temperature, relative humidity and wind direction several times a day. Neil’s cabin doesn’t have telephone access, so if he sees smoke he needs to tell Andrew, who will relay it to the fire rangers. Most people would feel uncomfortable being this cut off from the outside world, but Neil prefers it. It’s why he came out here.

They end the training session with Neil approximating the location of Andrew’s cabin. He’s about seven miles away. It would take over three hours to get there by foot, and Andrew assures him that there’s nothing worth seeing in his sector anyway.

“I doubt that.” Neil argues.

“I’m much more fun over the radio, trust me.”

“That’s not—” The tips of Neil’s ears feel hot. “I meant the park.”

“Mmm,” Andrew makes a disbelieving sound. “Sure, Neil. It’s no different from your part of the park. You can’t even get over here without—wait, what the fuck?”

“What happened?”

“Nevermind, I’m just seeing things. Anyway, as I was saying, there’s a ropeway you can use to—oh, fuck me!”

Neil’s mouth twists awkwardly, “Uh, Andrew, I’m...”

He falters and releases the radio button. Before he can figure out how to reply, Andrew cuts in.

“Shut up. Look out your west-facing window. Can you see that? Are those fucking fireworks?”

Neil goes quiet, and sure enough he can hear the faint pop of fireworks in the distance. He moves over to his window and a second later, a whizz of light streaks into the sky, ending in a puff of smoke as the fireworks explode in broad daylight.

“I see them. Is this a thing that happens often?”

“Um, no?” Andrew speaks as if Neil’s an idiot. “Life out here is usually peaceful. Bordering on boring. This is the first time I’ve seen people set off fireworks here and I’ve been doing this for three years.”

“So what do we do? Call a ranger?”

“And wait for your entire sector to catch? They’re too slow. We call them in when the fire’s already too far gone for us to handle.”

“I thought my job was just to locate fires.”

“And prevent them. Honestly, your job is whatever I say it is. So get your ass down there and stop those idiots before they set anything else off.”

Neil’s heartbeat trips and stumbles in his chest as he considers confronting whoever is setting off the fireworks. He can’t help but think that it’s strange that the day he comes to the park is the same day that someone is setting off fireworks _in his sector_ , like a beacon to draw him out and isolate him.

Neil doesn’t believe in coincidences. He believes in traps and ill intentions, because that’s all his life has been until now.

He considers ignoring Andrew, turning off his radio and waiting for it to all blow over. Let the forest burn, for all he cares.

But he also knows that if the fireworks really are for him, that they’ll come to his tower inevitably.

Andrew’s voice cuts through the noise in his head. “Neil?”

He doesn’t realise his hands are shaking until he struggles to press the push-to-talk button.

“Okay. I’m on my way.”

“Hurry up. And take your damn radio with you.”

Neil does. He also takes the cleaver from the kitchen counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to my beta readers [moonix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/), [lolainslackss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolainslackss), [puddlejumper99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddlejumper99), and to [idnis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idnis) and the AFTG Reverse Bang discord server for keeping me motivated.
> 
> If you liked the fic, please let me know in the comments or by [reblogging](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com/post/183434852749/pushtotalk-ch1)! Feel free to say hi on tumblr too [@alexjosten](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com) ♡


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter 1 Recap:** Neil arrives at Foxtrot tower and meets his supervisor, Andrew, over the radio. During his training, fireworks begin to go off in Neil's sector. In a dry national park with high fire risk warnings, they could be deadly. For someone who is running from his past, Neil fears they could be for him. He grabs his knife and leaves to investigate.
> 
>  **Warnings for this chapter:** Brief non-explicit sexual content

Andrew works out an approximate location of the fireworks and gives Neil coordinates. It’s coming from near a lake, but the terrain is too difficult to traverse and he can’t walk there in a straight line. Neil’s new to using a topographical map, and the challenge of constantly cross-referencing it with his compass is almost enough to distract him from the sense of leading himself to his own slaughter.

A small, sensible part of his brain tries to convince him that there are much easier ways to kill him than leading him out into the middle of nowhere, in a forest that he told nobody from his past life that he would be living in, where he uses a new name that nobody knows.

But underestimating his enemies and their taste for the dramatics would be a mistake.

The whistle of fireworks careening into the sky and crackling in the sea foam clouds becomes louder as he gets closer. Tall grass claws at his legs and thick trees crowd in on him from all sides. The sunlight seems dimmer here, warping the dancing shadows on the ground into mocking spectres come to watch his demise. The humid summer twilight air chokes him.

He hears a clatter.

He freezes. Slowly, he looks down.

There’s a crumpled beer can at his foot. He crouches down to inspect it, and then looks ahead and finds some more, trailed like breadcrumbs to lead him down a path in the grass.

He fumbles with his radio and calls Andrew.

“I found some empty beer cans. I think I’m close.”

“Great. Can you clean them up?”

Neil slips his bag off one shoulder and starts collecting the litter. His knuckles are still white around the handle of his knife, but collecting the cans preoccupies him long enough until he makes it to a camping spot.

There, he finds a lipstick-red tent, zipper teeth yawning open to reveal two pink sleeping bag tongues. A crude fire pit sits in front, flickering embers patiently hungering for more fuel. An open bottle of rum slouches next to it, tipsily suggesting it’ll soon indulge the flames.

“They’ve got a campfire,” Neil reports. “Surrounded by flammables. Nylon tent and some booze.”

“And they call _me_ suicidal. Can you deal with it?”

“Already on it.”

He scoops up the rum and searches for the cap to screw it closed. Then he nudges the tent back a few feet.

Andrew sighs. “You know, they colour coded the fire danger signs in case people were illiterate but I guess that doesn’t take into account just plain stupid, does it?”

“They might be color blind too.”

“Darwin’s full of shit. I thought natural selection would have poisoned all of them by now.”

“Well, at this rate they’ll burn alive, so Darwin still checks out.”

“Great. And they’ll take half of the park down with them. There goes my bonus.”

“Such a shame. You’ll be destitute.”

“Then I’ll have to spend next summer here with you.”

“Wouldn’t that be the worst.”

Neil stamps out the fire under his boot. While he’s kicking dirt over the remains, he spots a boulder nearby with two sets of wrinkled, damp women’s clothes drying in the afternoon sunlight. Propped next to them are two brightly coloured skyrockets.

“Found the fireworks. There’s still some left.”

“Take them. Take the booze too.”

“We can just do that?”

“Technically we can do whatever we want. Anyway, if two drunks file a theft report for missing booze, they’ll just get laughed out of the station. And they’ll be fined if they admit to having brought flammables into a national park on high alert.”

Neil carefully packs the fireworks and rum into his bag, and hoists it onto his back. He feels like a walking timebomb.

“Okay, got it. I’m on my way back now.”

“Slow down, boy scout. Go find the morons and issue them a warning.”

“Do I have to? I’ve got their stuff, they can’t set off any more.”

“They can still create another fire. Go tell them off and get an ID on them in case they do it again.”

Neil sighs and looks around for any clues as to where the drunks might have gone. Distantly, he can hear music coming from the lake. He turns and heads in that direction, following a trail that leads under a copse of trees that lace together above him like clasped fingers. He hops over a fallen log, and his hand touches something unexpectedly soft and wet on the bark.

Cringing, he glances back to check what he touched. He expects it to be a mushroom, or some sort of weird fungi, but—

It turns out to be a bra.

Neil’s so surprised that he laughs.

“Hey, Andrew? I found a bra.” His eyes continue along the trail and he spots a discarded red thong laying in the grass, next to a frillier white pair, “and, err… some underwear.”

“Neil, you might want to sit down for this. Not only is this park frequented by hippies… it’s also frequented by,” Andrew mock whispers, “ _nudists_. Can you handle that?”

“Fuck off. I’ll just come back later when they’re dressed.”

“Y’see, that’s not going to work. The thing about nudists is they don’t tend to put their clothes back on until they leave the park.”

“I’m not going to go barge in on some girls while they’re naked.”

“Well if you can’t handle it, you can cover your eyes, you child.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later. Try to remain professional until then and get on with your job.”

Neil grumbles and exits the thicket into a large clearing. The grass beneath his feet thins out into dirt and pebbles. There’s a portable stereo precariously perched on a boulder nearby, pumping out pop tunes. The shoreline melts into a cerulean lake. Still like fondant icing, it rolls out into the distance, sticks of chocolate mint trees piped around the edges. In the centre of the water, there are two petite female cake toppers.

Neil doesn’t look away fast enough. As expected, the women are naked. What’s not so expected is that one of them is propped up on a rock, and the other has her head between the first one’s thighs. The music isn’t loud enough to drown out their moans.

Face scorching, Neil ducks behind a tree before he’s spotted. It takes him a moment to fumble with his radio.

“Andrew? I, uh, found the girls. They’re in the lake.”

“So? Shout over to them.”

“They’re uh… having sex.”

“I know this is going to be tough for you, but try to pick your tongue up off the ground and do your job.”

“Shut up. It’s awkward seeing other people do it.”

“Virgin.”

“I’m not.”

“Uh huh.” Andrew’s tone is disbelieving. “Tame your boner and get on with the job.”

“I don’t have a boner.” Neil lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Girls don’t do it for you?” Andrew’s curiosity has a hopeful slant.

“Nobody does it for me.”

“Defensive. Hiding something?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Okay.”

Andrew’s simple acceptance is surprising.

Neil holds down the radio button. Having an argument, he isn’t sure what to say now. Another moan punctuates the silence. He startles and releases the button, letting Andrew’s voice through.

“Well, someone’s clearly enjoying herself. Are you just going to wait for them to finish or are you going to get on with your day?”

“Shut up. I’m handling it.” Neil growls into receiver and stomps out from behind the tree.

He storms over to the shore and, trying to look anywhere but the women, thunders out a loud: “HEY!”

They don’t hear him. It’s no wonder, with how loud the music is blaring next to him. His anger at their recklessness with the fireworks, embarrassment at catching them in the act and impatience to get this over with sparks his short fuse.

With a splash and a girlish shriek, the stereo is underwater and he has the womens’ attention.

The blonde shouts, “What the fuck is your problem!”

The other sinks down into the water to cover herself, “Oh my god, were you spying on us?”

“You can’t set off fireworks here!” Neil yells across the water.

The blonde shouts back, “I don’t care what you think, scarface! Why don’t you fuck off!”

In one fist Neil grips his radio so hard the plastic creaks. In the other he still has his knife. It glints in the sunlight.

“Allison, let’s just leave. I think he has a knife.”

“I can take him, Renee! He wrecked my stereo!”

“Light another firework and it won’t be your stereo I wreck! The whole park is on high alert, you can’t make fire pits here either! Go to a fucking campsite!”

“Go to hell!” Allison shouts, middle fingers blazing. Renee grabs her around the waist and wrestles her behind the rock she had been sitting on.

“You’ll fucking pay for this!” Allison warns, and then with a splash they’re out of sight.

Neil turns on his heel and strides back the way he came. It takes him a few minutes to calm down enough to loosen his fists. His radio crackles to life once he does.

“Well, that got a little heated.” Andrew’s amused voice greets him.

“You heard all that?”

“You said ‘I’m handling it’ and then never let go of the call button.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. This is the most entertaining thing that’s happened all week. The girls might submit a complaint about their stereo though.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“Probably not. HQ might tell me to give you a slap on the wrist, but as far as I’m concerned, you just did the park a favour.”

Neil relaxes his shoulders at that.

“So…” Andrew drags out the ‘o’, and then asks, “You had a knife?”

Neil glances down at the cleaver in his hand. In hindsight, bringing it was definitely overkill. It made sense to him at the time, but now…

“I didn’t know what to expect.”

“So your first instinct was to grab a knife.” Andrew says it plainly: without an air of judgement, but with understanding.

Neil feels self conscious and explains anyway. “I mean, you said nobody ever sets off fireworks here. The timing seemed weird, considering I just got here yesterday. And it was in my sector, too.”

“Paranoid.”

Neil is quiet when he says, “I know.”

“Neil.” Andrew’s voice is a firm, solid reassurance. “There’s nothing to worry about out here. We’ve got bears and fires, that’s it.”

Neil wants to believe him. He really does.

But Andrew is naive. He doesn’t know who Neil is, or where he’s just come from.

He can only hope nobody else does, either.

“Okay.”

He doesn’t sound convincing, but Andrew drops it.

“It’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“You know. I asked you a question, now you ask me one. Make it even.”

Neil _doesn’t_ know. He’s so taken off guard that he stops walking for a moment.

“I… don’t know what to ask.”

Neil’s used to everyone wanting a piece of him but never offering anything in return. The invitation to reciprocacy is a strange concept to him. He wonders if this is a product of his anonymity, or whether Andrew is just an anomaly.

“Then save it for later. Offer doesn’t expire.”

The radio is silent for the rest of Neil’s journey back to his tower. He spends the time thinking about what he wants to ask Andrew. He feels exposed after opening up about his fears, but feels like asking Andrew a question of a similar weight would be too invasive this early into knowing him. Yet he also has the impression that Andrew might not appreciate him asking something deliberately shallow, like what his favourite colour is, either.

He walks slowly as to not needlessly jostle the fireworks and rum in his bag. The trip is long, and without Andrew’s voice keeping him company it feels even longer. So used to being in the constant company of others, this self-imposed isolation is still foreign to Neil. He finds himself missing Andrew’s voice.

That thought formulates an idea, and by the time he gets back to his tower he’s decided what to ask.

“Okay, I’ve got my question.”

Andrew’s reply is immediate. “Shoot.”

“You said you’ve been working out here for three years. Don’t you get lonely?”

“How can I get lonely when you’re hitting up my radio every two minutes?”

Neil wants to point out the fact that they hadn’t spoken for the better part of an hour, but doesn’t want to paint himself as desperate. “Fair.”

“Anyway, I came out here to be alone. So it suits me fine.”

“Bad break-up?” Neil parrots.

“Something like that.” Andrew’s initial response is evasive, but he sounds like he might say more so Neil waits. His patience pays off. “My brother, cousin and I went to university together. My cousin graduated and moved overseas to be with his boyfriend. He figured my brother and I would keep each other company, but once my brother finished his undergrad, he and his girlfriend moved state to go to another school. I had no interest in tagging along as a third wheel.”

“So you came out here?”

“It was either be alone back home, or be alone out here. My cousin can’t pester me with his pity Skype calls out here, so this was an easy choice.”

Neil feels like there’s more to the story, but he doesn’t push.

“This is the first time I’ve really been alone. Before I came here, I was always with my partner.”

“I _knew_ it was a break-up.” Andrew sounds smug.

Neil’s quick to correct him. “Not that kind of partner. A teammate.”

“Teammate?” Andrew probes, and Neil’s heart sinks as he realises he’s said too much. “What kind of teammates go everywhere together?”

“Is that your question?”

His hummingbird heart fights to escape his chest, hoping Andrew will drop it.

He doesn’t.

“Yes.”

Neil considers lying, but this is something he’s never had to lie about before. Growing up with a microphone in his face and having every aspect of his life committed to tabloids taught him there weren’t many things you could lie about that a journalist wouldn’t figure out soon enough.

Sometimes Neil wonders what his life would have been like if he hadn’t been forced into sports superstardom at the ripe age of ten.

He can’t even think of a plausible lie. He vaguely recalls some sort of tobogganing sport in the Olympics that was played in doubles, but he can’t remember the name of it.

He’s stalled too long, and eventually he chokes out the two syllables that make his mouth go dry:

“Exy.”

“Exy,” Andrew repeats carefully, disbelieving. “That’s not how Exy’s played where I’m from.”

Tennis, Neil thinks too late. He could have said tennis. He slumps his face in a hand on the desk, and tries to find a way to dodge Andrew’s questions without lying to him.

“A lot of schools tried to copy Edgar Allan’s system, before… you know.”

The Ravens aren’t the unstoppable empire they used to be. They’ve lost a lot of fans, especially after losing every championship finals for the past four years.

“Well, look where that got them.”

“Mmm,” Neil mumbles, burnout rubbing at his mind like salt in an eye. “Actually, I came out here to disconnect from Exy for a while, so if you don’t mind…”

“By all means,” Andrew says, “I have no interest in talking about a stupid game.”

“Thanks.” Neil never thought he’d be relieved to meet someone who didn’t like Exy. He perks up a little. “What do you like talking about, then?”

“Is that your question?” Andrew mimics Neil’s words. The playful way he does it ebbs away some of the tension in Neil’s bones.

“Sure.”

“I already told you yesterday. I wasn’t lying when I said I can name three hundred species of plants.”

“Really? Did you study botany?”

“No. You pick up a lot on the job. There’s actually over seventeen hundred documented species of plants out here. And when you have lookouts and rangers calling you every five minutes to whine about some weird plant they’ve found that they think might have caused the rash _that’s definitely just from them not washing for a week straight_ , you learn to identify them pretty quick.”

“I was meaning to ask about that. What’s the deal with the plumbing out here?”

Andrew snorts. “Oh, you’re out at Foxtrot, aren’t you. Unlucky.”

“You have a shower?”

“Yup. The perks of seniority. Maybe you’ll get your suite upgraded if you come back next year, but I wouldn’t count on it. These death traps are one bad storm away from being condemned. It’s only a matter of time before they tear them all down and replace us with robots. I heard they’ve already done that over in Germany.”

“So, is that your life out here? You identify plants and gloat about having running water?”

“I also do crosswords, watch movies, play games, listen to the radio…”

“Do you ever work?”

“Work? Never heard of her.”

“You’re telling me I’m hiking around telling nudists to stop setting off fireworks and you’re kicked back doing crosswords.”

“Isn’t life miserably unfair?”

Neil thinks about his life in the Nest and how it compares to now. Tetsuji might have retired four years ago and the Ravens were sinking, but they still tried to run a tight ship. The conditions in the Nest improved marginally for about six months to appease the prying paparazzi, but the team was a hivemind. When they kept losing games, they quickly slipped back into their old ways.

They didn’t need a master to know how to keep the younger recruits in line. Neil never really shrugged off the shackles of expectation until he neared the end of his fifth year and could finally see a way out.

He knows Andrew’s question is rhetorical, but he can’t help but think about it. Here, he’s free to come and go as he pleases. He can sleep and wake up when he wants. He can go running outside and feel the sun on his skin and the wind in his hair. He doesn’t have to worry about hiding bruises before press conferences. He can say what he wants today without it ending up in the paper tomorrow.

“It could be worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Question from anonymous:** _isn't renee too responsible and nature-loving to set fireworks in the park?_  
>  Since this won’t be addressed in the fic, this is the backstory for Allison and Renee’s fireworks extravaganza: 
> 
> Renee had no idea that Allison snuck the fireworks into the park. When she had her back turned to set up their campsite, Allison ran out into the clearing, stuck the rockets into the ground and lit them. Renee screamed when the first bang went off, but when she came out of the tent to scold Allison for doing something so dangerous, Allison was bent on one knee with a ring box in her hands… :)
> 
> They then proceeded to get very drunk and go skinny dipping to celebrate ♡
> 
> If you liked this chapter please let me know in the comments or by [reblogging](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com/post/183521895069/pushtotalk-ch2)! Feel free to say hi on tumblr too [@alexjosten](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com) ♡


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter 2 Recap:** Neil investigates the source of the fireworks and discovers two women called Allison and Renee. He trashes their stereo and gives them a warning. Andrew explains to Neil he came out to the park to be alone, and Neil slips up and says this is his first time being alone after having an Exy partner.

 

**Day 2**

 

Neil is down the steps of his tower before the sun lifts its weary head. He spent the night tossing and turning, regretting every word that had left his mouth the day before. He told Andrew too much by even mentioning Exy. He didn’t legally change his name, leave the career he’d worked towards for over a decade and drop off the grid only to expose himself immediately like this.

He’s not sure whether he’s just being careless, or if there’s something about talking to Andrew over the radio that makes him lower his guard. He honestly didn’t think he would be talking to anyone out here. Certainly not enough to have needed to prepare a false backstory for himself. He shouldn’t be so trusting.

The stars are withering in the purpling sky. He decides he wants to put as much distance between himself and his tower before dawn. He originally came out for a jog just to clear his head, but now he feels like committing to it and running away for good.

A slash of light cuts in front of him and he stops dead.

Like a searchlight, it slides over his foot and claws up his leg to his chest. Frozen, Neil follows the beam and finds a tall man’s dark silhouette on a hill. Neil can’t see who he is. But he thinks... he _knows_ that man’s been looking for him.

The man takes one step towards him and Neil’s off like a shot. He picks a random direction that’s _away_ and runs harder than he has in any championship game. He runs, and runs, and runs some more, never looking back, until his foot catches on the earth and he stumbles into a heap.

He digs his fingers into the soil and heaves to catch his breath. His legs are throbbing from exertion. He waits and strains his ears for sounds of the man following him. Even if he comes, Neil’s not sure he can will his legs to move.

All Neil’s met with is the faint sound of birds chirping overhead.

A yellow handkerchief peeks out over the black suit horizon, a slip of silky sunlight cheerfully greeting him. Its ulterior motive is to welcome him to look around.

When he does, he realises he has no idea where he is.

His hand jolts to his shoulder, looking for the familiar weight of his duffel bag. It’s not there. Then he feels out the pockets on his running shorts, and they’re empty too.

He has nothing. No map, no compass, and worst of all, no radio. No way to find his way back, and no way to call for help.

The morning cold seeps under his thin running t-shirt, sticking to his sweat and worming into his bones. He briskly rubs the chill from his arms and paces on the spot, trying to think of what to do. He knows the _correct_ thing to do is to retrace his steps, and yet...

He tries. Twice. But he can barely take two steps back the way he came before his legs lock up. The fear of coming across—whoever that was—paralyses him. He can’t do it.

He covers his face with his hands, and sucks a deep, steadying breath through his fingertips.

 _I am safe out here_ , he tells himself. He repeats Andrew’s words: _There’s nothing to worry about except bears, and fires._

His legs won’t move.

 _And Ravens_ , his traitorous brain supplies.

He can’t go back, so he picks a random direction and starts walking.

-

Neil can’t be certain, but he feels like the trees are getting thicker, and the foliage is becoming denser as he pushes on. Hiking off trail is difficult, especially in his thin running shoes where he can feel every stone and twig under his feet. He changes direction in the hopes that he might come across a path.

-

There’s a break in the trees and a small patch of light flits through, warming a halo of grass. Neil jogs over to it and lifts his face to the sun. It’s high in the sky now, which means that he’s been wandering for about six hours or so. His stomach complains at the reminder. As an athlete, his body is used to being fed more than this, but he supposes this isn’t the first time he’s gone a day or two without a meal.

He takes one last lingering look at the light and carries on.

-

If Neil never sees a tree again for the rest of his life, it’ll still be too soon.

He wishes he took his chances with flashlight guy now. He’s such an idiot. A stupid, paranoid idiot.

He watches the ground for mushrooms, or berries, or _something_. He’s so fucking hungry.

-

The sun hangs its head in shame when Neil finally breaks free from the forest. It sets the earth ablaze in a dirty brick hue. A dry fog settles in the air like dust on the shelves of old forgotten bookcases. He skids down a curt cliff and steps into a field of luscious, bleached blonde grass. It brushes against his thighs softly, and he dances his fingers against the blades until he comes to a path.

It’s the first sign of civilisation he’s seen since this morning. Hope reinvigorates him, and he picks up speed, falling into a jog on the route.

It’s a while before he sees something in the distance. As he gets closer, he discovers that it’s a bright orange supply box. Supposedly it’s meant to be obvious nestled amongst evergreens, but here it almost blends in with the summer haze.

His heart sinks when he gets up close to it. There’s a combination lock sealing it shut.

He knows that hikers sometimes store food in these things, so he looks around for a rock or something to smash it with. The largest he can find is a pebble the size of his palm, and he tries smacking it a few times but all he succeeds in doing is skinning his knuckles.

Eventually, desperation takes its toll.

He sits down and begins systematically working through every number combination possible.

0-0-0-0

0-0-0-1

0-0-0-2

0-0-0-3

-

He squints up at the sky, his fingers numb from spinning the combinations. He’s not sure how much daylight he has left. He hopes there’s a flashlight inside.

0-7-2-7

0-7-2-8

0-7-2-9

0-7-3-0

-

He’s probably wasting his time.

There’s probably nothing inside the box.

He keeps trying.

1-0-0-3

1-0-0-4

1-0-0-5

1-0-0-6

-

Sooner than he expects, the lock clicks open in his hand.

He looks at the combination under his fingers in disbelief.

1-2-3-4.

Wow. Real secure.

He drops the lock to the ground and hastily pops open the box. Under the lid, a map of the surrounding area is stapled to the wood. It’s faded and curled at the edges, and only stretches the span of a few miles. It doesn’t show where his tower is, but another lookout has scribbled in the margins that Foxtrot Tower is to the north-east. Now he just needs to get his bearings to figure out which way he’s facing.

Next to the map, there’s an advisory flyer with a large bear paw on it. It says _‘You’re in their country. Learn to live with bears.’_ It has some small text underneath it about not leaving food lying around. _Ha. If only._

He looks into the bottom of the supply cache. There’s a pine cone, a crumpled letter and—incredibly, a lone granola bar. His stomach growls longingly, and after a quick shoulder-check for bears ( _as if_ ), he unwraps it and shoves it in his mouth. It’s stale, but he’s so hungry he doesn’t care.

He picks up the letter, but before he can read it, he spots something blue, shiny and plastic underneath it. His heart leaps, hoping it’s a flashlight, but miraculously it’s something even better:

A walkie-talkie.

He pockets the letter, and swipes the radio. It’s lighter than normal. The battery pack has been removed from the back, but after a quick search of the container he finds it’s been left separate to stop the charge from running out. He pops it in and with a satisfying click, it hums to life.

He starts flicking through channels, listening quietly on each one for radio chatter. They’re all silent. He can’t remember which channel he used with Andrew, having left the radio on the default setting.

He switches back to the first channel and casts out a cautious “Hello?” on the radio waves.

He knows it’s stupid, but he’s terrified that the man with the flashlight will reply instead. He won’t know where Neil is just from his voice, but he doesn’t want to make contact with him. Whoever he is.

He waits a minute for a response, and then switches to a new channel to try again. They’re all silent. He starts to fear that the radio is a dud when he finally gets a response on the second to last channel.

“Neil?”

It’s Andrew.

He barely knows him, but he can’t begin to describe his relief at hearing his voice.

His hands are shaking as he presses the button to reply. “Hi.”

“Don’t you fucking ‘hi’ me. Where the hell have you been all day?”

“I got lost.”

“It’s seven o’clock, Neil.”

“I got _really_ lost.”

“Where are you now? Are you back in your tower?”

“No. I’m not sure. I found a map, I’m uh… near Five Mile Creek?”

“Near? Can you be more specific? North or south.”

Neil chews his thumbnail and looks around. He hasn’t seen a stream, or a creek, or any body of water. His dry throat attests to that as he replies: “No. I don’t know.”

“Seriously?” Andrew heaves a sigh over the radio. “Okay. Describe your surroundings to me.”

“I’m next to a supply cache. The grass here is tall, but dried out. There’s a bunch of trees too.”

“Oh my god, trees? Now I know exactly where you are.” Andrew deadpans.

“Fuck off. I’m trying, okay?”

“Try harder. Describe the trees to me.”

Neil walks up to one. He doesn’t know much about nature, having spent the better part of his life stuck indoors. He feels like these trees look different from the ones near his lookout, but honestly he hadn’t paid that much attention to them.

“The bark is white. There’s black notches in it, and the twigs are dark too. The leaves are green? I don’t know. There’s loads of them around here. Is this normal?”

“Populus tremuloides.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a type of aspen. Actually, all those trees are one root organism. They share water as a colony and they can live for hundreds of years, even through fires. Commonly known as a quaking aspen, trembling aspen, golden aspen, white poplar… haven’t you heard of them before?”

“I don’t really do nature.”

“Why are you even here.” Andrew sighs. “It sounds like you’re in the aspen grove south-east of Jonesy Lake. That’s where you found the girls yesterday. So your tower should be about two miles north-east from where you are.”

“Great. Too bad I don’t know which way that is.”

“Don’t you have a compass?”

“Nope.”

“Then use the sun.”

“What?”

“You know, rises in the east, sets in the west? We’re coming up to the summer solstice though, so it rises more northeast at the moment, and sets northwest. Find the sun and figure it out.”

Neil squints at the position of the sun in the sky and then sets off.

“Alright. I think I’m going the right way.”

“Okay, good. You’re lucky you’re there, there’s not many aspen groves in your sector. There aren’t any in mine.”

Neil can’t help but think Andrew sounds a little wistful. It makes him wish he had his camera with him to snap a photo of the grove. It looks like little sticks of white chocolate sitting on a golden biscuit base.

“I thought you said my part of the park wasn’t any different from yours.”

“Quaking aspen are only found up to elevations of nine thousand feet. My sector’s higher than that, so it’s too fucking cold. I only get fir, spruce, pine and cold fingers here.” He sounds bitter about it.

“So it _is_ different.”

“I thought you didn’t care about trees.”

“Maybe I’ll start caring.” Neil feels a tug of amusement at the corner of his mouth. It’s freeing, being contrary without facing repercussions. “Why’s it called a quaking aspen anyway?”

“The way the leaves are shaped causes them to move a certain way in the wind. It makes the trees look like they’re quaking, or trembling. The name is taken from the Populus tremula, the European trembling aspen.”

“I see.”

“Actually, the European aspen is said to be associated with communication, endurance and resurrection. Crowns of aspen have often been found in ancient burial grounds and are said to aid the dead on their path to rebirth. Celts thought the trees protected them from spiritual harm.”

Neil isn’t sure where Andrew is going with this. “You uh… know a lot about trees.”

Andrew takes a while to respond. Neil wonders if he embarrassed him. Eventually, Andrew says: “It’s just fitting that you were in an aspen grove when you finally came back from the dead and called me.”

“I wasn’t dead.”

“You might as well have been. I was about to put out a missing person’s notice for you.”

“You’re really hung up on this ‘me-dying’ thing.”

“It happens more often than you think. Hikers go ass-over-teakettle when on a trail and end up snapping their neck down a ravine. It’s a lot of paperwork that I’d really rather not do.”

Neil shakes his head. Andrew’s laziness knows no bounds.

“Why did you take so long to reply, anyway? Was your radio off?”

“I didn’t have it with me.”

“I told you yesterday to keep it on you… how are you calling me now then?”

“I found one in a cache.”

“I’m amazed the battery is still alive.”

“It was kept separate.”

“Smart. Make sure you return it tomorrow in case someone else needs it.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“And bring your own radio with you when you go.”

“Mhm.”

“How did you end up so far away from your tower anyway?”

Neil thinks back to this morning as the shadows of trees fall across his body. The evening chill seeps under his clothes and he rubs his arms briskly.

“I was running and I... saw someone.”

“Elaborate.”

Andrew doesn’t even have to say anything for Neil to feel like an idiot. “He had a flashlight.”

“And?”

“He was pointing it at me.”

“...and?”

“I... I don’t know. I ran.”

“Neil, there’s something someone should have told you about this area before you moved here.”

“What?”

“It’s... outside.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“The whole park. People can come and go as they please. Weird, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I get it.” Somehow, the way Andrew teases him doesn’t feel patronising. It helps him put a realistic frame around his nervous breakdown and package it into a smaller box. It feels manageable.

They keep up a steady commentary during the long hike back to Neil’s tower. It would normally only take an hour if he had his own map and compass, but Andrew is patient with him while he regularly stops to describe landmarks he finds, and Andrew directs him on where to go next.

Andrew is surprisingly easy to talk to. If he’s not nerding out about trees and plants, he’s telling Neil about some musical that he watched on his dinky television, or about a game he supposedly needs to log into every day so his villagers won’t leave him. Neil’s never had the chance to watch movies or play video games, but he opens up about how he enjoys drawing, and more recently, photography.

Colours fade from the trees as they turn to dark silhouettes, rimmed with only wispy hints of twilight as the sun sets. Without a flashlight, Neil feels nervous, but with Andrew’s voice in hand he feels bold enough to push on through the night. When his tower pokes its head over the treetops to welcome him back, he’s flooded with an unexpected solace. He’s almost home.

-

“I’m back now.” Neil informs Andrew as he switches on the lights.

“I can see that.”

Neil turns towards Andrew’s tower and waves into the inky night. He can’t see Andrew, but he knows his silhouette can probably be seen. That thought doesn’t bother him as much tonight as it did before.

He picks up his orange walkie-talkie and sets down the blue one to charge. Ravenous, he chugs half a litre of water before pouring the rest of the bottle into a whistling tea kettle to boil, and then slaps together two sandwiches, nibbling on ingredients as he goes. He doesn’t dare head back out into the dark to wash properly, so he freshens up with a damp face cloth and then pulls on a clean hoodie and pyjama pants. Finally, he sinks down at his desk and stares at his forgotten log books.

“Shit. I missed an entire day of work.”

“Slacker.”

“Did I miss any fires while I was gone?”

“Oh yeah. Half of your sector burned down. Real nasty. Several habitats have been destroyed and at least twenty campers are dead.”

“Shut up.” Neil palms his mouth, a smile slipping between his fingers.

“I told you, it’s boring work out here. Most days nothing happens. I’ll give you my log numbers tomorrow so you can update your books.”

Neil slumps in his chair and hears a crinkle in his pocket. He pulls out the letter he found earlier.

“I found a letter in that cache box.”

“Oh?”

Neil unfolds it and scans the top.

“It’s dated from four years ago, the top says to deliver it to Spruce Lookout, and it’s from Ramshorn Peak.”

Neil feels a bit queasy as he considers the fact the granola bar he ate might have been four years old, too.

“That makes sense. The radio signals can only reach adjacent sectors. So if you want to send a message without playing radio-tag, you have you write it down and hope that other lookouts will pass it along without being nosy.”

“It’s from four years ago, do you think they’re still around?”

“Nope. We’ve had a different lookout in Spruce every summer since I started here. Looks like that letter never made it to the recipient, and never will.”

“...should I read it?”

“Obviously.”

“Alright.” Neil clears his throat and begins reading it out loud.

-

_To Spruce Lookout, Sent from Ramshorn Peak_

_June 4th 2007_

 

_Mon soleil,_

_I have tried every channel, but I cannot reach you on the radio. I fear we are too far apart._

_As you encouraged, I have watched the sunrise each morning since I arrived here. It reminds me of you. The park’s beauty is unparalleled. I know I needed to do this, but I am not sure I am ready to be so alone._

_When the night falls, I worry that coming here was a mistake. I jump at every noise. I cannot sleep without the light._

_You said this will pass, and it must. I trust you._

_I hope I can see you again._

_Ta lune_

_-_

At the bottom of the letter, a dried flower is pressed flat into the paper. Neil doesn’t know much about nature, but he can identify this one at least.

“There’s a pressed tulip inside.”

“What colour?”

Neil frowns, the question odd. “Yellow?”

“Cute.”

“What’s that meant to mean?”

“Many flowers and plants have meanings attached to them. Yellow tulips used to symbolize hopeless love, but now usually they’re associated with cheerful thoughts, sunshine, etcetera.”

“Oh, that makes sense then.”

“Hm?”

“The names were in French. It was addressed to ‘my sun’ and signed ‘your moon’.”

Andrew makes a fake retching noise over the receiver. Neil snickers.

“Not a romantic?”

“I usually take a more straightforward approach.”

“Is that so.”

“Yup.”

The shrill whistle of the kettle interrupts them, and Neil jumps up to remove it from the heat and make his tea.

While he waits for it to steep, he thinks back over the past few days. He’s not sure if he should interpret this as confirmation that Andrew’s been flirting with him, or assume that Andrew would have been more blunt if he really meant it. Not that it matters, really. He barely knows him, and even if he enjoys talking to him, it won’t lead to anything. He’s never really been interested in anyone, and he doesn’t expect that to change.

Even so, they’re seven miles apart. They’ll probably never meet, because Neil intends on spending the rest of his summer without meeting another soul, Andrew included.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter please let me know in the comments or by [reblogging](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com/post/183595628244/pushtotalk-ch3)! Feel free to say hi on tumblr too [@alexjosten](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com) ♡


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter 3 Recap:** Neil gets lost in the woods when he runs away from a man with a flashlight. After wandering lost for nearly twelve hours, he manages to break into a cache and finds a letter and a radio. Andrew helps him navigate back to his tower and Neil reads to him the letter he found, which turns out to be a love letter.
> 
>  **Warnings for this chapter:** Bullying, brief suicide reference.

****

**Day 3**

 

The next day, Neil leaves his tower prepared with proper hiking boots, his map and his compass. He’s eaten a full breakfast, and he has a bottle of water plus a sandwich in his bag. He even has a spare sweater, just in case he gets cold, and a flashlight although he intends to be back before twilight. He also brought his camera, and finally the blue radio, fully charged and ready to be returned to where he found it.

He’s probably packed too much, but after yesterday’s excursion, he’d prefer to be cautious.

Neil gets as far as the bottom of his tower before he realises he left his _own_ radio, the orange one, upstairs. He considers whether it’s worth going back for it, then he decides he’d rather avoid Andrew lecturing him later for forgetting it.

With a groan, he makes the one-hundred-and-thirty step climb back up to his tower to go grab it. When he swipes it up, it rumbles to life in his hand.

“You’re up early.”

Neil tugs the door to his tower shut and squints into the distance. Even with the clear skies, he can’t make out Andrew’s tower in the half-light of dawn without binoculars.

“Are you making a habit of staring at me?”

“Only if you’re making a habit of turning your lights on before the sun’s come up. At a distance it looks like embers.”

“I’m an early riser.”

“I know.” Andrew yawns over the walkie-talkie. “Where are you going?”

“Returning the radio from yesterday, like you said.”

“Mmm.” Andrew sounds pleased, but punctuates it with a jab. “Guess I’m doing your job for you again today.”

“I’m prepared this time, I should be back in a few hours.”

“I’ll believe that when it actually happens, lost boy.”

Neil smiles to himself and sets off. Andrew’s a little quiet until the sun comes up properly, then, after he announces he’s had his morning coffee, his witty commentary picks up and keeps Neil company on his hike.

Following a familiar path makes the journey feel a lot faster, and Neil makes it back to yesterday’s cache in no time at all. It’s even easier now that he has a map in his hand and is able to take a direct route without stopping constantly to navigate.

He pops the blue walkie-talkie and its separate battery back into the cache box and hooks the lock back onto it, clicking it closed.

“Alright, I’m done.”

“Locked the cache?”

“Yep. By the way, nice password.”

“One-two-three-four? All of them are the same.”

“Wow, really?” Neil’s not impressed.

“Wasn’t my idea, but at least you were able to get into it yesterday. And it’s not like there are that many hikers out here looking to steal radios.”

“I guess.”

Before Neil turns around to head back, he takes his camera out and snaps a photo of the aspen grove. The camera whirrs as it prints out the polaroid, and he warms it between his hands while he waits for it to develop. The little white frame houses a perfect still image of the usually quivering trees, the morning mist curling around their trunks like a cat’s tail.

“Hey Andrew?”

“What?”

“If I wanted to send you something, do I just put it in a cache box near your sector or what?”

“What do you want to send me?”

“A photo.”

“Wow, I come all the way out here, uninstall Grindr and I still get dick pics? Fantastic.”

Neil’s not sure what Grindr is but his face heats up all the same.

“What? No!”

“No? Don’t get my hopes up like that.”

Neil really can’t tell if Andrew’s being serious or not.

“Nevermind.”

He’s too flustered to ask again but Andrew says, “Do you have a pen? Take out your map.”

Andrew gives him coordinates and Neil dutifully scribbles it down. It’s at the very north of his map, just where his sector ends.

“There’s a supply drop there for your lookout, mine and a few others. Try not to traumatise the delivery guy with whatever you leave in there, alright?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t leave you any selfies for him to find.”

Andrew’s response is sharp like a blade. “Why? Because one of the girls called you scarface?” Neil feels himself flinch. He takes too long to reply and Andrew asks, “What happened?”

Neil’s fingers trace the mottled edge of a burn scar on his left cheek. What happened isn’t public knowledge, so it can’t be tied back to his previous name. He decides to be honest.

“Someone who didn’t like me very much took a lighter to my face.

Andrew makes a simple noise in acknowledgement. He doesn’t shower Neil in pity, which he appreciates.

“I guess you’re not a fan of fire.”

“No shit.”

“Let’s hope this summer is uneventful, then.”

“Yeah.”

-

**Day 4**

 

The summer is, in fact, not uneventful.

“Neil, I can see smoke at the edge of your sector.”

“You’ve got to be joking me.” Neil’s heartbeat leaps as he stands from his desk. After his morning run, he was hoping today would be the first day he’d actually stay in and do his job updating his log books, but alas. He moves over to his Fire Finder. “Coordinates?”

“I’ve got them already. Don’t waste time trying to triangulate it, just get down there before it gets worse.”

“Shouldn’t we call someone?”

“Waste of time if it’s just a campfire. It’s probably those girls again. They obviously haven’t learned their lesson.”

Neil sighs, the adrenaline sapping from his body at the lack of a real threat. Somehow, he's left feeling annoyed.

“For fuck's sake. Can we get them kicked out of the park?”

“You can _try_.”

Neil groans. He shoulders his bag, thankfully still packed from yesterday’s excursion, and pulls out his map.

“Where is it?”

“Just east of the supply box I told you about yesterday. You’ll want to leave your tower and head north.”

“Alright, I’m on it.”

-

Andrew keeps Neil company on the hour hike up to the north of his sector, but his usual commentary seems a bit strained today. Neil interprets it as stress of a potential fire breaking out and quickens his step.

He’s not that far away when Andrew calls him.

“The smoke’s gone. Actually, I think it was a false alarm. You can go back.”

Neil stops abruptly on the trail. He wishes Andrew could see his expression now, because it is decidedly _not impressed_.

“How can it be a false alarm? You either saw smoke, or you didn’t.”

Andrew doesn’t reply.

“Don’t tell me I’ve hiked up here for nothing.”

“...there was a smudge on my glasses.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been doing this for three years, I think you know what smoke looks like.”

“I hadn’t had my morning coffee when I called you.”

“Look, you probably saw smoke earlier and it’s stopped now. I should go find the source in case it’s still hot.”

Andrew releases a long-suffering sigh but doesn’t argue.

Neil doesn’t get what his deal is, but he picks up his pace. The dirt trail under his feet fans out to a terracotta wedge of a cliff face. As he crests the hill, a breathtaking horizon comes into view, powder blue mountaintops and fluffy white clouds. There’s a steep ravine separating his sector and the one in front of him, the one that Andrew looks after.

He comes to a stop in front of a green box, similar to the cache boxes he’s seen around the park but about three times wider. It has a padlock on it, and a weathered national park logo. Behind it is a gnarled wooden sign-post, pointing out the directions and distances to the surrounding sectors.

“I’m at the supply box now. Where exactly did you see this smoke?”

Andrew doesn’t reply, so Neil starts looking around. The grass here is so dry it feels like paper as it brushes against his legs. If there had been a fire, this place would have gone up in seconds and there's no way it would have gone out without intervention. Andrew doesn’t seem like the type of person who makes mistakes, but Neil’s only known him for a few days so he can’t be certain.

“This area’s pretty dry. I don’t see any fire damage.”

“Yeah, as I said: false alarm. You can go back.”

“I’ll look around a bit more just to be sure.”

Neil continues pushing through the beige-tan undergrowth, following the path carved out between the trees and cliff face. He eventually comes to a set of man-made steps leading up to a small wooden platform. Three heavy steel cables stretch across the ravine, connecting to the other side, a pulley holding them taut against a thick wooden pole. There’s a matching platform opposite, and sitting on it is a rickety looking cable car box.

“Hey, I found some sort of gondola out here. Looks like a death trap, if you ask me.”

“It probably is.”

“Looks like it connects to your sector. Do you ever use it?”

“No. It’s only for emergencies. Rangers sometimes use it, and there’s a guy that brings supplies to my tower, I think he uses it too. I’ve never asked.”

“What the hell, you get your supplies hand-delivered?”

“Yup.” Andrew’s smugness returns with only one word.

“Let me guess—the perks of seniority.”

“Oh yeah.”

Self-satisfied asshole. “Meanwhile the rest of us chumps have to hike an hour to this supply box, grab our shit and then hike back carrying it.”

“Just be grateful you’re only an hour away. The other lookouts have it worse.”

“If they’re going to use a helicopter to drop food off out here, I don’t see why they can’t just come directly to our towers and save us the hassle.”

Andrew’s tone takes on a mocking lilt. “Think of the wildlife, Neil. They’d be so scared.” He returns to his usual monotone. “I think they just like to give you something to do. You know, in case you get bored.”

“How will I get bored if you’re sending me on wild goose chases for smoke that doesn’t exist?”

Andrew doesn’t even apologise. “I can think of other things for you to do.”

“Oh really.”

“Mhmm.”

“Why don’t you come down here and tell me what to do in person?” Neil would love the opportunity to flip Andrew off to his face.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Come on then. I’ll wait.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Scared?”

“Of you? No.”

“Then what of?”

“Heights.”

“You work up a hundred foot tall lookout tower. You can’t possibly be scared of heights.” Andrew doesn’t reply. Neil takes his silence as a confirmation. “Jesus, Andrew. How do you even do this job?”

“I don’t look down.”

“So what will you do if there’s a fire under your tower?”

“Guess I’ll die.” Andrew replies flippantly.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Neil rests his hand on the lever for moving the cable car to this side of the ravine. He gives it a jiggle to see if it still works, and it creaks loudly as it inches the distant cable car box a fraction closer to him. It gives him an idea.

“I could come to you.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s cold. You’ll freeze your ass off.”

“It’s summer. It can’t be that much different over there.”

“I’m higher up than you are. Trust me, it gets cold. I’m fucking freezing all the time.”

“Maybe you should try going for a run with me in the mornings. Cardio gets your body temperature up.”

“Hell no. It’s bad enough that you woke me up with your ‘good morning’ call today.”

“Well, you were awake yesterday when I was, so I thought you’d be up.”

“That’s because you keep switching your fucking light on before dawn. Can’t you sleep in like a normal person?”

“No, not really. So do you want me to stop calling you in the morning?”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Okay, so I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

“Ugh.”

-

On the way back past the supply box, Neil stops to enter the code on the padlock and pops the lid open. There’s a hollow for each lookout, including Andrew’s. He gets an idea. He grabs some of the polaroids he’s taken over the past few days and his pen.

On the back of the aspen grove photo he writes: _wish you were here_

And on the photo of the doe, he writes: _a friend of mine_

When he’s done, he bundles the pictures inside the oversized grey sweatshirt from his bag, and leaves it in the hollow for Andrew’s supply box. Then he slams the lid shut and heads home.

-

**Day 5**

 

This time, Neil sees the smoke himself, so he knows it’s not a false alarm.

“Andrew, I’m starting to think you were lying when you said that this job is boring.”

“Are you really that entertained by filling out your weather reports?”

“No, smartass, look out your south east window towards Beartooth Point. There’s actually smoke this time.”

There’s a pause while Andrew checks, and then he hums an affirmation. They set about pinpointing the exact coordinates together, comparing their readings from the Fire Finders. The loopy tendrils of grey smoke curl up into the atmosphere like an abandoned cigarette. It reminds him of his mother, the ashy scent that stuck to her clothes his only real memory of her. He hasn’t seen her since he was ten years old, when she hugged him goodbye after passing his aptitude test to join the Edgar Allan junior team alongside Kevin and Riko. He hadn’t realised back then that would be the last time he’d see her.

“Do you think it’s those girls?” Neil asks.

“It looks like campfire smoke, so yeah. I’d call that a safe bet.”

“They really don’t give a shit, do they?”

“Not a single one.”

Neil marks down the location on his map and shoulders his bag with a few supplies packed. The location is only thirty minutes away, so he should be back before the sun sets.

He hikes his pack onto his shoulder. “Alright, that should be it.”

“Got your knife?” Andrew teases, and Neil pauses at the door to cast a glance back at his kitchen counter.

He takes a half step towards it, and recalls the two women at the lake the other day. He imagines the fear they felt when they saw him holding it wasn’t too unlike the fear that used to paralyse him when his father, or Lola, would threaten him back home.

“I won’t need it.” Neil decides, and leaves it behind.

-

The valleys that lead the way to Beartooth Point howl with a bitter wind. The sun is beginning to drip over the horizon, and the usual balmy radiance from the earth starts to fade. Neil keeps his pace brisk to stay warm, and cups his hand around the mouthpiece of his radio to spare Andrew the whistling air interfering with the receiver.

They kill time by speculating about what stupid shit the two women have gotten up to this time. Andrew’s spun enough amusing theories that Neil stops feeling nervous about approaching them. He’s decided he’ll apologise for scaring them and take their details so he can replace their stereo, provided they promise to stop lighting fires outside of campsite zones. He’s feeling confident that he can handle this professionally and put the whole issue to rest.

The only problem is, they’re not there.

He finds their makeshift fire pit. The flames are still trembling, munching away on a torn strip of blood red nylon. The same material as their tent—which is shredded to ribbons, sinewy strands barely holding it together as it gapes open like a loose jaw. The two pink sleeping bags have been strewn about, deep muddy gouges bruising the soft fabric and leaving tufts of insulation oozing from the seams.

“Andrew uh… their campsite’s been destroyed.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. Their tent and sleeping bags have been all slashed up.”

At the foot of one of the bags, a lone piece of paper flutters in the wind in a bid for freedom. It’s pinned under a heavy rock. Neil squats down next to it and picks it up.

“There’s a note.”

“What’s it say?”

Neil scans the words scrawled in loopy cursive.

-

_DEAR SCARFACE!_

_Do you think you’re funny? We’ll see who’s laughing when we call the cops and tell them to come get you, you psychopath. I hope it was worth it so you could jack off like a fucking creep. We both saw what you look like and we’ll tell them you destroyed our stereo and threatened us with a knife AND we’ll tell them you fucked up our tent and all our stuff!! You’re probably some kind of mental fucking serial killer and you are SO going to PRISON. Do yourself a favour and kill yourself before they get here, maybe you can burn the other half of your face off in Hell and even it out, you freak._

-

By the time he’s done reading, he’s shaking so badly he can barely hold the paper still enough to see the words. He re-reads the last two lines over, and over:

_Serial killer. Prison. Kill yourself. Burn your face off._

They know.

They know who he is.

He needs to get out of here. He needs to run. Hide. Start over again fresh and actually keep a low profile this time. He needs to go where nobody will ever meet him. If only there was a guidebook for creating a new identity—Neil barely lasted a full week with this one. He's completely out of his depth. Somehow becoming someone new, after being Nathaniel all his life, is impossible.

When Andrew shouts his name over the receiver, Neil startles and drops it. The plastic cracking against the ground makes his eyes refocus as he panics and checks the orange casing for damage. Andrew sounds like he’s been calling his name for several minutes.

“Neil, what’s going on?”

His fingers are so numb he can’t push down the talk button. It takes him a few attempts. It clicks pathetically in his hand and sends a blip of static to Andrew the first time. Eventually, when he manages to get his throat to work, his voice is a strained whisper.

“Nothing. It’s... I’m— I’m fine.”

“Like fuck you are. What did the letter say?”

“They’re saying I did it, that I slashed up their tent, I—”

“Well, did you?”

“No! Of course not, but they’re calling the cops and they know who I am and— I can’t be here, I’ve got to go—”

“Neil. There’s no signal out here, so there’s no way they can call the cops that fast. It’s a bluff. Also, you have nothing to be afraid of if you didn’t do it. ”

“Nothing to be afraid of? I didn’t do it, which means that _someone else_ did.” The shadows between the trees could easily hide black and red uniforms, he’s exposed out here like this—

“So? Then their issue is with the girls, not you. Look, weird shit happens out in the woods. The girls might have been tripping on mushrooms and done it themselves, or pissed off some other campers. If they left food out it could have even been a bear or a wolf. How big are the slashes in the tent?”

Neil knows Andrew is making good points but it doesn’t do anything to quell the quiver of fear in his heart. All he can do is focus on his questions and try to answer them. He reluctantly drags his gaze out from the treeline and back to the tent.

“They’re… wide. The edges are all jagged.”

“Are the tent poles snapped?”

“Bent. Yeah.”

“And are there any food wrappers lying around?”

Neil looks around and finds nothing. A chill wind rustles his hair and he follows the way it leads him. He sees something shiny and crinkled in the distance, caught on some underbrush.

“Mm. Further away, yeah. Why are you asking all of this?”

“Think about it. If it was a person using a knife, you’d just slash once and tear a larger hole to get in the tent, right? And why would the tent poles be bent? It sounds like it was a bear trying to get at their food.”

Neil can’t fault his logic. Now that he frames the damage this way, it makes sense. It doesn’t change the fact that the earlier fear has sapped every ounce of energy from all of his muscles.

“Do you have your camera with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Snap some pictures of the tent and whatever else is left there. If the police actually respond to their complaint, you’ll have some evidence.”

“Okay.”

Neil robotically takes out his camera and starts taking photos as Andrew suggests. He feels detached as he kicks dirt over the remains of the fire, like he’s controlling someone else’s body from far away. Andrew’s voice over the radio is the only thing tethering him to earth. He’s recounting stories of weird things that have happened in the woods, and the usually stupid causes of them. He patiently prompts Neil into responding every so often, and when Neil finishes up he stays on the radio with him while he walks back.

He starts to feel better once he gets back to his tower and shuts the door behind him. He hits the light, drops his bag at the door and flops face first onto his bed with his radio still in his hand.

“You back?”

“Mmm. Gonna sleep.”

“It’s still early.”

“Mm.”

“Okay. Call me if you need to.”

“Mm.”

Neil curls onto his side and exhaustion pins him to the blankets. He doesn’t have the strength left to get underneath them. But he pulls the radio a bit closer to himself, and presses the button once more.

“Hey, Andrew?”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter please let me know in the comments or by [reblogging](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com/post/183726543059/pushtotalk-ch4)! Feel free to say hi on tumblr too [@alexjosten](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com) ♡


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter 4 Recap:** Andrew reports smoke at the edge of Neil's sector, but it turns out to be a false alarm. Neil discovers a cable car that connects to Andrew's sector but Andrew discourages him from using it, stating that it's too cold. Neil leaves a sweatshirt and two polaroids in the supply box for Andrew's lookout. The next day, Neil sees actual smoke and finds Allison and Renee's destroyed campsite and a threatening letter written for him.

**Day 6**

 

Neil wakes up feeling like he hasn’t slept. Daybreak burns his eyes and a headache squeezes at his temples. His limbs hang from his joints like dead weights, but in comparison to yesterday, they at least feel attached to him.

By some strange miracle, the day is blessedly uneventful.

Andrew either doesn’t notice or chooses not to comment on the fact that he didn’t go on his morning run. Neil supposes Andrew hasn’t known him long enough to know how unusual it is for him to skip. Instead, he pours himself his third tea of the morning and hunches over at his observation desk, the only sound in his cabin the gentle scratch of his pencil as he logs numbers and weather changes.

Woodland birds flit by and land on the railing surrounding his cabin. They chirp merrily to each other, and then scuttle off into the breeze. Neil chews on the end of his pencil and watches the clouds go by.

The letter from yesterday was horrible, but what was worse was not knowing exactly who, or what, had destroyed their tent. Andrew had justified yesterday that it was likely a bear; and Neil pulled out the polaroids he’d taken more than a few times to try to reassure himself of that. Yet they don’t quite scratch the itch at the back of his mind that suggest it could have been Ravens, or worse, his father’s people.

He feels like the cleaver he had attempted to defend himself with on his first day now carries a foreboding aura. He slides it off the counter and hides it at the back of a drawer, but he still knows it’s there. It brings back unpleasant memories of him, even though he hasn’t seen his father since his aptitude test with Edgar Allan thirteen years ago.

In a way, joining Edgar Allan’s junior team and moving into their boarding school had been a blessing, since it meant he was away from home. Riko’s tantrums and Tetsuji’s grueling training sessions were nothing in comparison to what he grew up with, and his rebellious personality began to bloom, a stubborn weed crawling from the gutter.

But when Nathaniel’s attitude wouldn’t stay in check, they only needed to mention Nathan’s name for him to become instantly compliant.

They only lost that leverage on Nathaniel’s graduation day, when Nathan was killed by his inmates in prison. It felt like a gift, until later that evening when the story broke that Nathaniel Wesninski, famous Edgar Allan backliner and predicted shoo-in for the Court, was actually the son of a serial killer.

His offers to join pro teams curled up like dead leaves in a fire.

Frankly, he didn’t want to stick around for long enough to find out how his contract was meant to work when he wasn’t signed to a team and no longer a marketable asset. The thought of his father’s people dragging their precious ‘Junior’ down into their world to take up his title made him sick.

The girls’ tent could have easily been a warning shot from his father’s people, the Moriyamas or other Ravens. There’s really no way of knowing.

He still feels a bit like a skittish rabbit, ready to sprint off at the slightest distant movement. He catches himself watching the grounds surrounding his tower more than a few times. The wind rustling the trees sounds awfully like people pushing their way through the underbrush to come find him. Yet each time he looks, all he’s met with is a wide open, sunlit patch of grass.

By mid afternoon, he starts to feel like himself again. Or, at least, he’s reformed the shaky wicker frame of whoever Neil Josten is supposed to be and he’s crouched inside it. He doesn’t really know how to fill up all of the available space yet, but he supposes that will come with time.

“You’re quiet today,” Andrew’s voice rumbles over the static of the radio. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Just tired.” Neil picks at a sandwich he made for lunch.

“Because of yesterday.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not going to happen often, but if you take it to heart every time a camper gets pissed at you, you’re going to have a rough time out here.”

“I know. I’m not a pushover. I can hold my own.”

“Didn’t seem like it yesterday.”

“Their letter took me off guard. That’s all.”

“What was in it that messed you up so bad?”

“I don’t know. All of it?”

“Do you still have it?”

Neil glances to his desk drawer. It’s sitting crumpled up next to the polaroids he took.

“Yeah.”

“Read it to me.”

Neil pulls the letter out and smooths it out on top of his notebook. One glance at the loopy cursive makes his heart drop into his stomach again. He scans the words and tries to consider if they would make him identifiable.

“It’s stupid. Just forget about it.”

“It’s not like I have anything better to do. Read it to me in your best Regina George impression.”

“Who?”

“Mean Girls?”

“Uh…”

“You’re so sheltered.” Neil can hear Andrew sighing. “Just read it out already.”

Neil clears his throat and looks over the words one more time. _Scarface. Serial killer. Prison. Kill yourself._ He considers censoring the letter, but surrounded by daylight, inside the safety of his cabin, and with Andrew on the other side of his radio, the words don’t feel as ominous as yesterday. He reads the letter in its entirety without changing a word.

When he finishes, Andrew laughs.

“ _Do you think you’re funny?_ ” He mocks in a fake valley girl accent, and then immediately drops back into his usual flat tone. “Wow, I just regressed back to junior high.”

Neil suddenly feels ridiculous for getting upset over the letter yesterday.

“Well, junior high wasn’t like that for me,” he snaps.

“Oh how could I forget? You were a jock. You were probably popular.”

“I…” Neil couldn’t argue.

“Well, let me teach you a technique losers like me used to deal with this shit.”

Neil’s about to argue that Andrew isn’t a loser, but Andrew begins reciting the letter verbatim in an over-the-top, dramatic impression of a sassy high school drama queen. Neil would be impressed by Andrew’s ability to remember the letter after only hearing it once, if he wasn’t doubled over his desk laughing at Andrew’s voice. After becoming accustomed to his raspy monotone over the past week, it’s too bizarre to handle.

When he finishes, Andrew switches back to his normal voice. “Okay. It’s your turn.”

“My turn?” Neil’s face hurts from laughing so much, and he rubs at his cheeks.

“Now you do it. Read it out in her voice and show how stupid she sounds.”

Neil tries to keep a straight face and read out the letter like how Andrew’s instructed. He has to stop multiple times through reading it, unable contain his laughter. Andrew continuously interjects with little comments.

_“—when we call the cops and tell them to come get you, you psychopath—”_

“Yeah, as if some lazy cops are going to hike all the way out here for a broken stereo. There isn’t a Dunkin’ Donuts out here.”

_“—I hope it was worth it so you could jack off like a fucking creep—”_

“Jacking off sure is a weird way to describe you panicking over seeing tits, but okay.”

_“—mental fucking serial killer and you are so going to prison—”_

“Do they even know how the prison system works? Clearly not.”

_“Burn the other half of your face off in Hell and even it out, you freak—”_

“Too bad she can’t burn her personality off in Hell.”

By the time Neil’s done, the letter feels less like a copy of his last will and testament, and more like a teenager’s diary entry written in glitter gel pen. He feels satisfied as he scrunches it up into a ball and shoves it to the back of his desk drawer.

“Better?” Andrew checks.

“Better,” Neil confirms, and for once he doesn’t feel like he’s lying to himself.

-

**Day 14**

 

Eventually, all the activity around Neil’s tower quiets down to the peaceful boredom Andrew promised him. In fact, other than leaving his tower for his routine morning runs, Neil never really strays too far from his new home and he doesn’t ever come across another person. It’s calming for his jittery mind, and with Andrew always responsive on the other end of his radio, he never feels too lonely.

He’s two weeks into his stay when he gets a call from Andrew informing him that Neil’s bi-weekly food shipment should have been delivered, so Neil makes the familiar hike back up to the supply box to go grab his things. The trip back, encumbered with a crate filled with cans of soup and other clunky food items, is tiresome. He needs to carry it with both hands, and he doesn’t have one free for his radio, so he tells Andrew he’ll speak to him later and they go an hour without talking.

By the time he returns to his tower, night has fallen and the stars have drifted up into the skies. He shoulders the button on the wall to turn the light on in his cabin, and dumps his box down on the kitchenette counter. He’ll sort through it later, but first he flops onto his bed with his radio.

“Hey, I’m back,” he sighs into the receiver.

He’s still out of breath from lugging his supplies up one-hundred-and-thirty-fucking-steps.

“Hi,” Andrew responds curtly. Neil can sense something is off.

“What’s up?”

“I want to ask you something.”

“Sure.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

For the first time in over a week, Neil feels cold dread drip down his spine.

“What do you mean?”

“Who sends a sweater to someone they don’t even know?”

Neil immediately relaxes with a relieved sigh, remembering the package he had attempted to send Andrew ten days ago.

“Oh. That. You said you were cold.” He explains.

“Yeah, my tower is always cold, every summer it’s fucking cold, I know this and I bring my own sweaters out here, thanks.” Andrew sounds like a bristled up cat tail. Neil can’t help but find his annoyance somewhat amusing.

“Well maybe if you stopped bitching about being cold all the time I wouldn’t feel the need to send you my sweater.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re welcome. Keep it up and I’ll send you socks next time.”

“And what are these polaroids?”

“Souvenirs? I thought you liked aspen.”

“I do.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Nothing. What’s with the doe?”

“She’s one of my running buddies.”

“And the notes on the back?”

“I figured it was like sending a postcard. It would be weird without it.”

“Why did you send these to me?”

“You’re full of questions tonight.”

“Answer me.”

“I don’t know, maybe because I spent all that time walking up to the supply box for your ‘false alarm’ and I didn’t want it to be a wasted trip? Why did you send me up there anyway? There weren’t any signs of fire damage. You’ve been doing this a long time, I know you wouldn’t have made a mistake like that.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Maybe not, but we’ve been speaking every day since I got here. I think I’ve got a decent idea by now. I also think you’re avoiding the question.”

“I sent you up there so I could get a look at you.”

“What?” The warmth drains out of Neil’s stomach and he sits up, peering out his window towards Andrew’s tower nervously. “Why?”

“You disappear so often, I need an ID on you so I can file your missing person report.”

“That’s not the reason.”

“Fine. It’s because I’m horribly superficial. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t see you in the end.”

“Really?” Neil chews on his thumb; he’s not sure if he believes Andrew.

“I turned back before you got there.”

“You actually left your tower? I’m shocked.”

“This isn’t Rapunzel’s tower. I can leave if I choose to.”

“I thought you didn’t like heights.”

“I don’t. Stairs are fine. Ropeways suspended over a three hundred foot drop, not so much.”

Neil sighs, and tries to imagine Andrew standing across the ravine, waiting for him to arrive so they could see each other for the first time. He can’t picture it, having no idea what Andrew looks like.

“So it really was for nothing.”

“That’s why I told you it was a false alarm.”

“Are you going to make a habit of sending me on pointless errands?”

“No.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I decided I didn’t want to meet you.”

“Ever, or yet?”

Andrew doesn’t reply. Neil waits patiently. Eventually, Andrew deflects:

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m just returning the favour.”

“It’s my turn now. What did you mean last week when you said ‘nobody does it for you’?”

The whiplash change in direction disorients Neil enough that he doesn’t even consider arguing with Andrew. Instead, he lays down again and thinks back to the conversation they had when he caught the two women in the lake. He grimaces a little.

“Well, I’ve never just looked at someone and thought, _‘oh, they’re hot’_. I mean, I can recognise if someone is objectively attractive. It doesn’t mean I want to jump into bed with them. And catching those girls, uh… it just made me uncomfortable more than anything else.”

Andrew hums, and then asks, “Are you asexual?”

Neil’s heard the term before, and he knows what it means, but he’s not sure if it applies to him. He’s never cared enough to put a label on his lack of interest in other people. He just figured he was too busy to think about it and was always surrounded by people he had zero interest in. Not that he had much choice in the Nest.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t really allowed to be with anyone.”

“Allowed?”

“Strict upbringing.”

“But did you want to be?”

Neil pauses to consider. He thinks about following Kevin and Thea’s relationship in the media once they went public, and the hollow twinge of longing that left him wondering if he’ll ever find something like that.

“Sometimes I think it might be nice.” But the Nest has messed him up so much he doubts anyone who isn’t ex-Raven could understand him and his myriad of issues, now. The thought of dating an alumni sends unpleasant shivers down his spine, and he fingers the freshly healed burn scar on his cheek anxiously. “But mostly I don’t think about it.”

“Okay,” Andrew says, and that’s that.

No judgement, no more questions. Neil feels a little off balance, but in a good way, like part of him has become lighter. He floats back to the previous round of their question game and his next question bubbles out like soap suds on a breeze.

“Hey Andrew, what do you look like?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m horribly superficial,” Neil quotes cheekily.

“That’s not the reason,” Andrew throws back at him.

Neil grins and pulls his sketch pad closer to him. “Nah. I’m going to try drawing you.”

“Okay, so first you draw a V, then two dots underneath it, and a C-shape turned ninety degrees clockwise.”

Neil doodles the angry >:C face for fun on the corner of his page. “Ha, ha. No, really. You can draw me too, if want. We can compare sketches later and see whose is better.”

“You say compare as if we’re ever going to meet.”

“Well, whatever. Just for fun. You know, that thing you’re always having instead of working like the rest of us.”

“I never said doing crosswords was fun,” Andrew says, but then adds: “I can’t draw for shit. How tall are you?”

Neil’s eyebrow quirks up, wondering why that would be his first question. “Five foot three. You?”

“Five foot.”

Neil waits for him to say more. He doesn’t.

Oh. That’s why.

“Heh.”

“Fuck off. What colour hair do you have?”

“Kind of like brownish red?”

“You’re a redhead?”

“I guess? Not like, fire-engine red, but in the light it’s kind of...”

“Like sunset red.”

“That’s awfully poetic of you.”

“Shut up. My hair’s blonde. What colour are your eyes?”

They blunder through describing themselves to each other, Andrew trying to compare his nose and cheekbones and eyebrows to celebrities that Neil doesn’t know.

“Freddie Fox, Dane Dehaan, Draco Malfoy… Toby Hemingway? No?”

“Never heard of them. Are they actors?”

“Jesus. You at least know athletes, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Do you remember that backliner that used to play for the Palmetto Foxes a few years ago? What was his name… Adam… wait, no… Aaron Minyard?”

Neil tries to recall. As a backliner, he’d mainly only been familiar with his marks: strikers. “Uh… vaguely.”

“I look like him. But hotter and better dressed.”

Neil scribbles the eyebrows on his doodle to make them look slightly angrier. “Okay.”

Neil has to figure out creative ways to describe the specific shape of his lips when Andrew suddenly decides to take the drawing challenge seriously. After a while, Neil’s developed a fairly decent sketch of what he imagines Andrew might look like, or at least how he’s described himself.

“What about other features? You said you wear glasses.”

“Yeah. I just need them for filling in the log books.” Andrew describes the rectangular shape of his glasses, and Neil shades in the black frames with the side of his pencil. “What about you?”

“No glasses. Just an ugly burn scar.”

“When you say burn scar, are we talking Phantom of the Opera, or more of a Prince Zuko?”

“I think we’ve already established I don’t know any celebrities.”

“They’re not real people.”

“Then I definitely don’t know who they are.”

“What do you even _do_ in your spare time?”

Neil doesn’t want to remind him that his life before here was literally just Exy, press conferences, interviews and cardio, so instead he diverts back to Andrew’s original question. “It’s on my left cheek just below my eye, about an inch wide, maybe a bit more. It’s still red, but it might fade.”

“Sounds fresh.”

“It is.”

“I have freckles, unfortunately. The sun hates me.” And that’s the trade. Andrew just accepts the information and moves on.

Neil’s starting to think that Andrew can handle anything he tells him.

“I think freckles are cute,” Neil admits.

“Really.” Andrew sounds skeptical. “Do you have any?”

“No.”

“That’s why.”

“I think I’m starting to get some on my arms though.” Neil brushes a finger over the skin on his forearm. A few faint spots he doesn’t remember being there before have shown up recently.

“I wear long sleeves so that doesn’t happen.”

Neil’s pencil slopes down the side of Andrew’s neck and sketches out his shoulders.

“Are you wearing that sweater I sent you?”

“Why would I wear that?” Andrew’s response is too quick and defensive.

Neil grins. “Well, I’ve already drawn you wearing it.”

“Well, I’ve drawn you wearing tiny running shorts.”

Neil looks down at his thighs and then back to the radio.

“I mean, you’re not wrong.”

“I guess that makes two of us,” Andrew admits.

Neil smiles at his little doodle of Andrew and shades in the grey sweater with his pencil. He has no idea how accurate his face is, but at least he can vaguely imagine who he’s talking to all the time.

“Oh yeah. Speaking of running, I found another letter earlier today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s from the same pair as last time. Want to hear it?”

“If you must.”

“Well, I don’t have to…”

“Neil, read the damn letter.”

Neil laughs. “Okay.”

-

_To Ramshorn Peak, From Spruce Lookout_

_June 20th 2007_

_Ma Lune,_

_Moss Peak told me that Irish Rock called them to say that Chimney Rock Lookout heard from you that you tried sending me a letter a few weeks ago. I never got it! :( What did it say? This stupid telephone tag between all of the towers is driving me crazy. I walked all the way to the edge of my sector to see if I could get signal to call you but I’ve had no luck._

_I’m really worried about you. I know it was your idea to come out here and unwind after everything you’ve been through, but gosh I’m getting lonely out here! If we do this again we should bunk up in the same cabin, I miss cuddling you. One of your giant sweaters somehow snuck into my bag so I’m just wearing it every day and thinking about you hehe :) <3 _

_I hope you’re doing okay! You’re the strongest person I know, so I know you’ll get through this! The person who stayed in my tower before me was into growing cooking herbs so here’s some thyme from their garden. There was a little tag on it that said ‘for courage and strength’ so it made me think of you! It’s kind of fun looking after all these little plants but honestly I have no idea what I’m doing lol. I’m just watering them every day and hoping for the best!_

_Only four weeks left, we can do this!! Love you <3 _

_Ton Soleil_

_P.S. I hope I spelled the French bits right! You owe me some French lessons when we get home. Not just frenching LOL not that I’m complaining… ;)_

-

“And here I was thinking this letter couldn’t be any worse than the last.”

“At least there weren’t any threats in this one.”

“Threats to you, maybe. If they watered that thyme every day it didn’t stand a chance. Poor thing probably drowned.”

Neil looks back to the letter. Folded into the crease is a long stem and hundreds of tiny dried thyme leaves. Neil supposes it might have been fresh when the letter was first sent, but the years have dehydrated it completely. It still has a pleasant fragrance, which reminds him of some of the French cuisine he sometimes had with Jean.

“You’re such a plant nerd.”

“It’s basic knowledge that overwatering drought-tolerant plants kills them.”

“Clearly not, considering this person did just that.”

“It’s not my fault this park seems to only attract idiots.”

“What does that say about you?”

“That I’m surrounded by them?”

“Mhm,” Neil sasses. He folds the letter back up and places it on his windowsill, then flops back onto his bed.

“Hey Andrew, did you used to work out of Spruce Lookout?”

“No. I was at Crescent Mountain before I moved up here.”

“Oh. I thought maybe the herb garden they were talking about was yours. The little tags with the meanings sounds like something you would do.”

“I don’t need to make tags. I just remember them.”

“How can you remember so much? All these plants look the same.”

“Let’s just say I have a good memory. Anyway, these letters are from 2007. I was still in my junior year then.”

“Oh. That means you’re only a year older than me.”

“You’re surprised?”

“Well, you’re so jaded I assumed you were at least like, seventy five.”

“Wow.” Andrew mocks sounding offended, but Neil gets the sense he’s somewhat amused. “Well, after that, this old man is going to bed. Goodnight, Neil.”

Neil smiles to himself, and curls up on his side with his radio in one hand. “Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra special thank you to [moonix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/) who helped me find names of common Andrew faceclaims, because like Neil, I am awful at recognising celebrities.
> 
> If you liked the fic, please let me know in the comments or by [reblogging](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com/post/183753969559/pushtotalk-ch5)! Feel free to say hi on tumblr too [@alexjosten](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com) ♡


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter 5 Recap:** Andrew reveals he raised a false alarm so he could see what Neil looked like, but he left before Neil arrived. They end up describing themselves to each other over the radio.
> 
>  **Warnings for this chapter:** Non-graphic descriptions of Neil's childhood.

****

 

**Day 21**

 

Neil gets into the routine of falling asleep next to his radio, talking to Andrew deep into the night, far past his ability to keep his eyes open. They take turns drifting off mid conversation, and Neil wakes up in the morning to his cabin flooding with orange hues as the sun rises. The little red blinking light on his pillow warns him his radio battery is low. He charges it and stretches in his cabin to creak the morning chill out of his bones, impatient to start his run but now unwilling to leave the cabin without Andrew.

Once it’s charged, he wishes him a “good morning” and sets off. Andrew will usually mumble some sort of acknowledgement back, but otherwise he’s not very talkative when he first wakes up. Neil doesn’t mind, because he’s usually out of breath during his morning run.

He’s slowly becoming accustomed to the terrain of his sector. He jogs alongside meandering rivers, over gentle hills and between thick towering trees. He parts his way through grassy fields where little cotton fluffs float in the air seemingly following their own laws of gravity. Bumblebee swarms dance between bouquets of wildflowers, swaying gently in the wind like a choir.

Winding down from his run, he splashes through a shallow stream, the water droplets providing his calves a temporary reprieve from the summer heat. He immediately regrets it as his shoes squelch in protest, and he peels them off to dry them out in the sun while he takes a break.

“I wish I brought a second pair of shoes out here, or a hairdryer.”

Andrew yawns deliberately down the radio before replying. “You can have someone from back home send you a care package, if you want.”

“I don’t really have anyone back home.”

“Then order some on Amazon.”

“Don’t tell me you have a computer in your cabin as well as everything else.”

“No, but I could ask someone in HQ to do it for you.”

“I’ll think about it.” Neil says, but what he means is _thanks but no thanks._ The last thing he needs is an internet footprint leading people straight to him. “Do you ever get any care packages?”

“My cousin used to send some when I first started doing this. I think he felt guilty for leaving us, even though I told him it was fine. He doesn’t owe me anything.”

“Why would he feel guilty?”

“He was our legal guardian for our last few years of high school. My brother and I don’t have parents, so I guess he felt some misplaced sense of responsibility to take care of us. We only really made peace for his sake, but as soon as he moved back to Germany my brother and I went our separate ways.”

“What’s the deal with you two?”

“Well, he’s hung up over the fact I’ve never shown remorse for his mother’s death.”

“His mother? Are you half siblings?”

“No, we’re twins. A woman who beats her child within an inch of his life doesn’t deserve the title of ‘mother’.”

Neil’s shoulder itches, the mottled skin from a long-ago iron burn humming in agreement. He thinks of his own tongue’s reluctance around forming the word ‘father’.

“I can understand that.”

“Most people don’t.” Andrew’s voice lacks the inflection of a question, but Neil knows it’s there. “Most people think you’re a monster if you never shed a tear at the funeral of the woman who gave birth to you.”

“Well, I didn’t cry when my father died, either.”

“Is he the one who burned your face?”

“Not my face. That was someone else.”

“You’re telling me you have multiple burn scars.”

“Just one more on my shoulder.” The admission weighs on his chest and pushes all the air out of his lungs. He’s not sure if it’s relief or the sick feeling in his stomach that makes him open up. “He hit me with an iron.”

He feels a prickling sensation up the back of his neck, like his words could summon his father or Lola from the dead. He shakes out his still-damp shoes and slips them on so he can jog back to the safety of his cabin.

“The other people who hurt you. Are they still a problem?”

“I don’t know,” Neil answers truthfully.

“So your paranoia has some substance after all.”

“Well. Kind of. They shouldn’t know I’m out here.”

Andrew hums thoughtfully, then asks, “So what are you going to do when the fire season wraps up and they send us home?”

“I'm not sure.” He hasn’t planned that far yet, too focused on trying to get through each week as it came. “Maybe I’ll go to Antarctica for the winter season. What about you?”

“I’ll go home. I miss my car.”

“Won’t your cousin start calling you again? You could join me down south.”

“Neil, as much as I'd love to join you down south, it’s cold enough out here during the summer. No way in hell am I going to freeze my ass off in an igloo. I’d rather face Nicky’s calls.”

Neil laughs. “They don’t use igloos, but okay.”

 -

**Day 30**

 

The ghosts of the morning mist burn away as the afternoon sun washes the distant cliffs in a pastel yellow haze. The trees and grass alight in a warm ember glow. Considering Neil’s job is to prevent forest fires, there’s a certain irony in how beautiful the park is when painted the colours of flames.

He crests a hill, and a flock of birds take off in the distance. Light flits through his fingertips as he shields his eyes from the sun to watch their tiny black paper cutouts dancing on the skyline.

It’s not until he’s descending a crumbling pebble path that he realises that the birds’ silhouettes didn’t pull at the strings of discomfort attached to his memories. He wonders if he’s healing. It feels too fragile and fresh to be certain, like removing the bandages from an open wound and finally letting it have some fresh air.

He speeds up into a jog, and takes a running leap to cross a small bridge that has partially splintered away. He’s been trying to explore a new route on his run every morning, but somehow he keeps coming back to north of his sector. His internal compass keeps pointing him to Andrew.

It’s weird how he feels so connected to someone he’s never met.

He sometimes eats his lunch while dangling his legs over the edge of the platform that connects their sectors via cable car. He likes to imagine Andrew’s voice is clearer on the radio here, but it’s likely wishful thinking. He can’t see his tower past the trees lining the cliff face on the other side, but it doesn’t stop him from peering at the horizon in the hopes he’ll somehow spot him.

With his eyes so often turned skywards, it takes a few weeks of visiting this place for him to notice what’s at his feet.

Far down the edge of the shale cliff, there’s a natural rock bridge that connects his and Andrew’s sectors. There’s a gap in the middle, but Neil reckons it’s short enough that he could jump it. His eyes trail a narrow path that leads down from the cliff, and soon after his feet follow.

The stone under his feet is worn smooth. Either side of the bridge is a sheer drop that jerks his stomach to the bottom when he looks down.

“Hey, Andrew, I’m on top of a natural bridge out here.”

“Oh really.”

“It’s not a complete arch, but I think I could jump the gap.”

“Don’t.”

“It’s pretty steep either side, but if I land it I’ll be in your sector.”

“And if you slip, you’re dead.”

“Well, I guess there’s worse ways to go.”

“Neil.” Andrew warns.

“It’ll be fine. Just wait.”

Neil hooks the radio into the back of his shorts and measures up the distance.

“Neil? Don’t do it.”

He ignores Andrew’s warning and takes off at a sprint, launching himself into the air.

 

-

 

His shoes scuff against the dust and pebbles as he lands smoothly on the other side. He looks back over at the distance he cleared and feels smug. A grin stretches his face; he hasn’t had a rush like this since he last played Exy.

“Neil?” The radio crackles. “NEIL.”

Neil unclips his radio and finally replies. “Ha, that was easy.”

“Fuck you. Don’t do that to me.”

“I’ve survived too much to die by falling off a cliff. Give me some credit.”

“You’re a cocky shit with a death wish. I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Neil grins, and Andrew doesn’t argue, so Neil takes it as a win.

He takes a look around, and finds a gentle slope that looks like it might lead back up the cliff face. It’s peppered with chunky jagged boulders, but they’re all reasonably sized enough that Neil can boost himself up if he needs to. He starts climbing.

“So… I’m in your sector.”

“Apparently. Are you ever going to stay in your tower and actually do your job?”

“Wouldn’t you get bored if I did? Besides, someone’s gotta get you to do _your_ job.”

“Watching your sector is not my job.”

“Yet you do it anyway.”

Andrew sighs down the radio, and Neil resumes hiking. The incline finally levels out, and he can see the ropeway in the distance. He starts moving towards it. On his way, he passes a splintering signpost which points out the direction of Andrew’s tower. It’s four miles away, which means if Neil had a map and the terrain wasn’t too steep, he could make it there in about two hours.

“Hey,” he starts, and then hesitates. A little twist of excitement flutters up in his gut, but his nerves try to clip its wings. “I’m not too far from you. Want me to come over? We could compare how good your sketch was from the other week.”

Andrew doesn’t reply right away. Neil’s heart races faster with each passing second, and his anxiety begs him to radio back and laugh it off and say he’s joking. He doesn’t understand why Andrew makes him feel this way.

He’s about to take it back when Andrew finally replies.

“No. Go back to your own tower, Neil.”

His heart tumbles from his chest and falls to the bottom of the ravine. He doesn’t understand why it was so close to the railings of his ribcage in the first place. The steep drop of disappointment is unprecedented.

“Oh. Yeah. No problem.”

He begins trudging back towards the ropeway. His feet feel heavier than before.

“Neil.” Andrew begins, and stops.

Neil waits for him to continue, but eventually needs to prompt him. “Yeah?”

There’s an uncomfortable silence until Andrew finally speaks again.

“Look. Don’t take it personally. I told you before, I came out here to be alone. I meant it.”

“No, it’s fine. I understand.” He hopes to god he doesn’t sound as hurt as he feels.

“I don’t think you do.”

For a while, the only sound is the crunching gravel under Neil’s shoes. He worries his lip between his teeth. The wooden platform of the ropeway comes into view. When he steps onto it, his radio crackles to life once more.

“I spent my childhood being shipped around foster homes. Every time I thought things might be alright, I’d be sent away to a new one. I didn’t have a stable home until my teens, but in the end staying at that one nearly killed me. Leaving felt like it did.”

Neil stands still to listen.

“I moved in with my brother and his mother. I made a deal with him that we would stick together, just us two. I didn’t want to let anyone else in, but he was my twin. I had to.

“It never worked out. Nicky tried to bring us together but he was too heavy-handed about it. My brother broke our deal and started dating. We don’t talk anymore.

“I’m not prepared to go through that again. Not a third time.”

Neil waits to see if Andrew is going to say anymore, and finally emits a quiet, “Okay.”

Then, he shuts himself in the cable car and begins the slow task of making his way home.

-

**Day 31**

  


The wind whistles as thunder rumbles in the distance. The noise stirs Neil from his sleep. His cabin is too quiet; when he opens his eyes and finds himself in pitch darkness, he realises it’s because his generator has gone out. Another angry growl from the heavens is the only warning before rain begins to pelt at the windows of his cabin.

“Neil. Neil, wake up.”

He looks across to his radio, sitting in its charging dock instead of on his pillow for the first time in weeks. Andrew hadn’t been very talkative after his earlier exposition. Neil doesn’t blame him.

“Neil, get out of bed and pick up the radio.”

Neil does.

“What do you want?”

“There’s a storm. You need to count lightning strikes with me.”

Indigo clouds have painted over the stars until they’re obscured from sight, their glow a soon forgotten memory. A jagged arc of purple whip-cracks against the sky. His cabin flashes with white-hot light for a split second. Then, the dark swallows him whole again.

“My generator’s gone out,” Neil informs him.

“It’s easier to spot the strikes in the dark, anyway. Just leave it off until the morning.”

Neil looks over to where the power button on his wall should be, but he can’t quite pinpoint it in the ink of night. He considers ignoring Andrew’s advice and turning it back on anyway. Instead, he stumbles over to his backpack and starts fumbling around blindly for his flashlight.

“Neil… don’t tell me you’re scared of the dark.”

Neil doesn’t reply. Instead, he clicks his flashlight on, the beam like a beacon in the night.

“Oh, Neil.” He sighs, and his voice is melodic as he repeats his name. “Neil, Neil, Neil.”

He sounds off. It takes Neil a moment to twig.

“Are you drunk?”

“And what will you do to me if I am?”

“Nothing.”

“So well behaved. That’s why I like you.”

“I thought you hated me.”

“I hate when you harsh my vibe. Anyway, I’m not drunk. I am _getting_ drunk. There’s a difference.”

“Well, I don’t want to ‘harsh your vibe’, but maybe getting drunk when we have to work in the middle of the night isn’t a great idea.”

“Neil.”

“What?”

“You’re harshin’ my vibe.”

Another bolt of electricity streaks across the sky, followed by a guttural groan from up above. Neil shivers as he watches the clouds billow over each other. Storms have never bothered him before, but he’s also never been in the middle of one while over a hundred feet in the air, in a cabin with a panoramic view.

“Hey Andrew? Do the towers ever get hit?”

“Hmm? Sometimes. That’s why you have a lightning harness around your tower. It’ll divert the current to the ground. Just stay inside and you’ll be fine. Probably.”

“That fills me with confidence.”

“Would you prefer me to fill you with something else?”

Neil says, “What?” but he doesn’t push down the radio button in time for it go through. He feels off-centre, an unexpected hope making him top-heavy and prone to falling. What surprises him more than Andrew’s words is his reaction to them. _He wants._

The tactile delay of pushing the button to talk gives him an opportunity to change his answer.

“How do you plan on doing that from over seven miles away?”

“You’re very good at following directions. I’m sure we can improvise.”

Neil’s heart thumps from the bottom of the ravine, still hanging on somehow. He gingerly scoops it up and shields it with his hands. He reminds himself that Andrew isn’t sober. He repeats the words that rocked him only a few hours ago.

“I thought you didn’t want to go through this again.”

“There is no ‘this’. You are a ghost made from radio waves, as ephemeral as you are unreal.”

“I’m real, whether you want to believe it or not.”

“Are you, though?”

Neil’s cabin floods with light.

How real is Neil Josten without Nathaniel Wesninski filling his shell?

With a snap, it’s gone.

Neil feels laid bare. He recounts every conversation they’ve had, every slip-up he’s made. He convinces himself there’s no way Andrew could possibly know the truth.

The sky splits in two and swipes a jagged claw down into the trees.

“We’ve got a hit,” Andrew says soberly.

Neil tugs his blanket off his bed and wraps it around his shoulders. He sits at his FireFinder and puts their game of cat and mouse out of his mind in order to work with him to locate the lightning strike. They concisely list off coordinates and measurements to each other and Neil uses his flashlight to make notes in his logbook. Each scratch of his pencil electrifies his skin. Somehow, Andrew has managed to worm inside him. He considers concepts he’d long ago given up on and pushed out of his heart.

“What happens now?” Neil asks.

“If we’re lucky, it won’t come to anything. In the morning, we’ll check for smoke.”

Neil wonders if Andrew means the fire or them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the fic, please let me know in the comments or by [reblogging](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com/post/183847482449/pushtotalk-ch6)! Feel free to say hi on tumblr too [@alexjosten](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com) ♡


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter 6 Recap:** Andrew and Neil both open up about their childhoods. When Neil finds a rock bridge that connects to Andrew's sector, he leaps across the gap. He suggests visiting, but Andrew turns him away. Heartbroken and confused, Neil doesn't know how to interpret the mixed signals when Andrew calls him drunk later that night.
> 
>  **Warnings for this chapter:** Description of a panic attack.

****

 

**Day 31**

 

The storm brings a torrential downpour that washes out any hope of a fire sparking. By the morning, they sidle back into an easy rhythm with each other, the confessions of the past twenty-four hours swept downstream. Still, Neil feels the change: the undeniable part of him where his branches have been torn asunder and his bark has been scorched away to expose his core.

Great. He’s thinking in tree analogies now. Andrew’s rubbed off on him. Andrew would probably correct him; _‘underneath the inner bark is the sapwood and heartwood, actually._ ’ - not that those sound any better for Neil’s predicament. He groans and pushes away from his desk. He stretches and jogs circles in his cabin. He wants to run.

The rain traps him inside until mid morning. When it finally lets up, the clouds step aside to let a few bashful rays of light trickle through. The fields and trees surrounding his tower glisten with a fresh dew. Neil’s tugging on his shoes when Andrew calls him.

“Hey, HQ just called. I’ve got some bad news.”

Those words chill him. He’s scared to pick up. He clenches his fists and tries to convince himself the news isn’t about him or Nathaniel. It can’t possibly be. He sucks in a deep breath and does his best to level his voice when he answers.

“What’s up?”

“Chimney Rock Lookout reported two empty kayaks were found downriver this morning. They’re starting a search in their sector now, but they need you to check Ruby River and Cottonwood Creek for bodies.”

His tense shoulders relax. Neil knows he shouldn’t be relieved knowing someone’s potentially died rather than his identity’s been discovered.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“ _‘That’s fine’_?” Andrew mimics him. “You’re a bit fucked up, Neil.” He sounds more amused than affronted.

“What else is new?”

“Not your first brush with death?”

Neil thinks about the night of his aptitude test. The plastic sheet on the floor. His father cutting a man to ribbons. He figures finding a bloated, floating body in a river can’t be any worse than that.

“No.”

Andrew hums in interest. “Well, get packed up. You’ll need supplies if you find anyone.”

-

Neil hikes over to the far eastern edge of his sector to begin his search. Having spent so much time jogging around every morning, he barely needs a map to navigate now, and has worked out a few shortcuts along the way. He makes it to the border between Foxtrot and Moss Peak, and begins the careful task of walking along the edge of Ruby River.

He wonders if body retrieval was included in his work contract. He doesn’t remember much about it, having been too preoccupied trying to calm the shaking in his hands as he signed _Neil Josten_ for the first time since his legal name change documents.

There’s a gentle breeze following the slope of the water, and little birds hop amongst the branches to chirp a cheerful tune to welcome the sun’s return. The only sign of the storm from last night is the way the river is engorged with the current, flowing more rapidly than it has in weeks. The otherwise peaceful way nature goes on with its life is a strange juxtaposition to Neil’s search for death. It would feel more fitting if it was overcast and he could hear sobbing in the distance.

He stops.

He _can_ hear sobbing in the distance.

He quickens his pace, still careful as he picks his way along the riverbank. He knows that the soil could be loose after the recent storm, and he doesn’t plan on becoming another casualty out here. The fact that he can hear crying means that at least one person is alive.

He finally finds the source of the sound.

Stranded on a dissolving sandbank in the middle of the rapids are the two women from a month ago. The blonde—Allison, he thinks he remembers her name being—is weeping into her hands while the other woman holds her close and tries to shush her.

“Renee, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, I knew the weather warning said we shouldn’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay. Once the river calms down we can try to get across.”

“Once it _calms down?_ ” Allison cries, and as if to illustrate her point a chunk of the sandbank they’re on breaks off and disappears under the water.

“Hey!” Neil calls out to them, and they both jolt to look at him. Initial relief warps into anger as Allison recognises him.

“Come to watch us die? Fuck off, freak!”

Neil’s about to snap something back at her when the other woman—Renee—scolds her.

“Allison, keep your pride in check for two minutes for goodness sake—” she whips around and calls out to Neil, “Can you help us?”

“Yeah, just hold on!”

He gets as close as he can and produces the rope from his pack, tying one end to a boulder to mount it. As he finishes, he hears another shriek from behind him.

“Hurry!”

Another block of sand dissolves into the water. Allison’s foot slips under the rapids for a second before she jerks it back to land.

Neil imagines if he throws the loop of rope to them, it will probably land shy of the island and float down stream. He needs something to give it weight. He searches the shore for a rock and finds one roughly the size of an Exy ball. Once he fastens the end of the rope to it, he readies his aim.

“Catch!” he shouts, and then he throws the rope.

It looks like it's not going to make it. He stops breathing.

Then—

Renee’s hand whips out and catches it mid air.

“Got it!” she gasps.

She loops the rope around Allison’s waist and ties a knot. Allison’s shivering violently, but she fights through the cold to swim back to shore. Neil pulls the rope as hard as he can. Despite how cruel she’s been to him, his heart is in his throat. He doesn’t want her blood on his hands.

After what feels like an eternity, she crests the shore.

Neil runs over to her and helps pull her further inland. She’s shaking so intensely she can’t undo the rope around her waist, so Neil does it for her. He doesn’t know if it’s gratitude keeping her mouth shut, or if it’s the fact that her teeth are chattering.

“Save her!” she finally manages to bite out.

Neil nods, and finalises the knot around a new rock. The rope is wet and slippery, but it holds firm as he throws it to Renee. She reaches for it but this time it slips past her fingers. It lands with a thud on the very edge of the sandbank behind her. She scrambles for it before it can slip under water.

Allison screams.

The remains of the sandbank collapse into the raging waters, taking Renee down with it.

She disappears and doesn’t come back up.

Neil nearly abandons all his own survival instincts to dive in after her, when he’s jolted forward by the rope in his hands going taut. He heaves it back and the resistance on the line tells him Renee’s holding on but the river is fighting him for her.

“Help me!” he shouts to Allison, and then she’s there, hands on the rope in front of him and they both pull with all their might.

Renee’s head bobs above the water for a second—she coughs and takes a breath, but before she can finish she’s dragged back under. Neil can feel the skin on his palms being worn raw and he has no idea how Allison, lips blue and on the verge of hypothermia, is even able to stand right now. He’s heard of hysterical strength before, of parents lifting cars up to rescue their trapped children, but he’s never witnessed it until now.

Renee’s head surfaces again. She’s almost at the bank, and he and Allison synchronise on one last tug to bring her home.

Renee crawls onto the shore coughing and spluttering river water. Allison stumbles over to her, and all of the energy leaves her body in a woosh as she collapses next to her, arms around her shoulders in an embrace. Renee kisses her face, whispering prayers and thank yous against her cheeks. Neil awkwardly turns away to give them some privacy. He remembers he should call Andrew.

But first, he starts a fire with supplies from his bag. The flames slowly chew on the kindling and consider some damp twigs thoughtfully. He’s finally managed to poke some life into it when Renee speaks up.

“Thank you. You saved our lives.”

Neil turns back to look at her, and catches her elbowing Allison in the side to prompt her.

Allison looks flustered as she chatters out a bitter, “Thanks, I guess.”

“I’m just doing my job,” he shrugs, and watches them shuffle closer to the fire. None of them mention the irony in the fact that he spent his first week chasing them down trying to stop them from lighting fires, but the awkward silence kind of suggests that they’re all thinking about it.

“What happened?” Neil asks to break the tension.

“Well, after you fucked up our tent—”

“ _Allison!_ ”

“That wasn’t me,” Neil says. “I found your campsite afterwards. The damage looked like it was caused by a bear. It was probably trying to get at your food.”

“See, I told you,” Renee hisses to Allison.

Allison doesn’t have enough colour in her cheeks to look embarrassed, but she at least has enough shame to look away before she continues her story.

“Anyway, as I was saying. After,” she lifts her fingers in air-quotations, “ _‘a bear’_ wrecked our tent, we left the park for a few weeks. But we never got to go kayaking like we planned, so we came back for the weekend. Then the storm happened last night. I didn't want to waste another trip, and we have to go home tomorrow so I thought we could just do it today anyway…”

When she trails off, Renee picks up, “We knew the water was rougher than usual, but we’re both athletes so we thought we could handle it.”

Neil zones out as Renee goes into the details of how they had to abandon their boats. He hyper fixates on the word ‘athlete’ and flicks his gaze between the two of them. Hair soaked, shivering and makeup-less, they don’t look the way they would at a banquet or on the cover of a magazine, but something about them seems familiar…

“And then you found us.” Renee concludes with a violent shiver.

Neil feels uneasy at the possibility of them knowing who he is, and wants to get away from them as soon as he can. He opens his pack and grabs his waterproof jacket, tossing it to Allison before unzipping his fleece and handing it to Renee.

“Try to warm up. I’m going to call for help.” He turns his back to them and walks a few feet away with his radio.

“Hey Andrew, I found the kayakers. They’re alive.”

“Oh good, less paperwork,” Andrew drawls, and Neil cracks a smile despite himself.

“They both ended up in the water, I think they might be suffering from hypothermia.”

“I’ll call dispatch to send a rescue out. Where are you?”

“Still on Ruby River, just before the marsh that connects to Cottonwood Creek. Immediately south of Foxtrot tower.”

“Got it. Stay with them until it arrives.”

“Roger.”

Neil rubs his bare arms briskly and returns to the women. He tells them that help is on the way, and then they lapse into a tense, awkward silence. Eventually, Neil speaks up.

“By the way, I’m sorry about your stereo. If you give me your details, I’ll replace it.”

Renee starts to forgive him, but Allison speaks over her. “Yeah, have you got a pen?”

Renee tells her off, something about Allison making more than a park ranger does, but Neil tunes them out as he rummages in his bag for his sketchpad and his pen. He folds over the page with his doodle of Andrew on it and poises his pen to write.

“Ok, so put the name as Allison Reynolds, and our PO box is-”

Neil stops writing as he instantly recognises her last name, gaze snapping up to confirm. Reynolds was the dealer for the Foxes. The team that had smashed the Ravens out of the championships multiple times.

“Um, you’re not writing anything?” Allison prompts him.

“Did you actually call the police?” Neil asks.

Renee looks confused. “What do you mean?”

“In your letter, you said—”

_“Allison!”_

“Sorry, I know you told me not to leave it but I was so pissed—”

Renee cuts her off, annoyed, “No, we didn’t call the police. We shouldn’t have had fireworks here in the first place, and we had no idea who you were anyway so—”

“You look familiar though,” Allison interrupts.

Neil’s heart stops.

“We’ve never met,” he lies.

Renee looks thoughtful. Allison looks skeptical.

“What’s your name?”

Neil hesitates for too long and his mind blanks. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“Wait. Aren’t you…” Allison’s jaw drops. “Oh my god, you are. You’re Nathaniel Wesninski.”

Neil flinches at the name. “I’m not—”

“I knew you looked familiar! Wait, what happened to your face? Shouldn’t you have like a big three tattooed there?”

“I’m not him.”

“I thought you were going to go Court like Kevin and Jean. What are you doing out here?”

“Shh, Allison, let him talk.”

Neil looks at Renee and finally recognises her. The rainbow streaks in her hair are gone, but there’s no mistaking it: she’s Walker, previous goalie for the Foxes, and the woman who single-handedly broke Jean out of Edgar Allan during Neil’s first year.

He remembers their eyes meeting as she took him from their shared dorm. As she left Nathaniel behind.

Her gaze softens as she senses his hesitation. “It’s okay. I know what happened in there.”

She reaches for his hand, probably to comfort him. Neil jerks his hand away before she can touch him.

“Everyone knows what happened,” he spits. “ _The Edgar Allan scandal._ It was all over the news.”

“I’m so sorry Nathaniel, you know better than I do what Riko was doing to him. I had to get him out of there—”

“I spent two years patching him up and looking after him and you just took him away from me like it was nothing. Do you have any idea what Riko was like once he no longer had Jean?”

“That was years ago,” Allison dismisses. “You must have seen how much better he was with the Trojans, can’t you just be happy for him? And he made US Court, too.”

Neil huffs out the bitter shell of a laugh. “Yeah. I’m happy for him.” He doesn’t sound it.

“But what are you doing out here?” Renee asks. “It’s tryout season. I know the Ravens haven’t won championships for a few years, but you’re a great backliner. Shouldn’t you be—”

“I’m never playing again,” he says lowly.

“What? Why not?”

He hesitates, and considers telling them he’d been bought by the Moriyamas, just like Jean. How when he found out that his parents had sold him like a dog, Exy began feeling like a prison. Every time he picked up an Exy stick it felt like he was heaving the chains tying him to the next prisoner in the procession. He spent his five years of being a collegiate athlete wishing he’d be injured enough to be benched permanently. He was never so lucky—until his graduation day.

“Is it because of the news about your father?” Renee asks delicately.

He hates the way she tiptoes around it. “Pro teams aren’t interested in a backliner who’s never won a championship and who has a serial killer for a father. It doesn’t make good PR and it doesn’t attract sponsors.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily true,” Allison begins to argue.

“Just drop it. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“But-”

Their conversation halts when a loud chopping noise rises over the treetops. The leaves rustle violently to signal the arrival of a rescue helicopter, and their fire flutters in the wind before sputtering out.

“That’s your ride.” Neil stands, and smothers the last of the embers with his boot.

“Wait, Nathaniel—” Renee moves to stand up.

“Don’t call me that.” Neil looks at both of them. “And don’t tell anyone you met me out here.”

“We won’t,” Renee promises, just as Allison says, “Why shouldn’t we?”

“Because I have a letter in your handwriting telling me to kill myself and fireworks with your fingerprints on them.”

“Fuck you, you little shit—” Allison starts, but the helicopter descending cuts her off, and Renee pulls her back.

Neil doesn’t wait to meet the rescue crew. He scoops up his bag and starts running back to his tower.

-

The panic doesn’t set in until he’s back in his room.

He doesn’t remember getting there or kneeling on the floor of his cabin. All of his belongings are scattered in front of him, half stuffed into his bag. He was packing, maybe, but his radio is in his hands and they’re aching from the rope burn and the force with which he’s gripping it.

Despite every cell in his body telling him to leave, his legs have locked up on the spot. He’s never had the freedom to escape before; when things went bad in the Nest, the only way to reduce the punishment was to face up to it and accept it willingly. Not everyone had the luxury of running away from everything like Kevin and Jean did.

His voice doesn’t sound like his own when he chokes out Andrew’s name.

“Neil, what’s going on?”

Andrew’s voice over the radio brings reality into focus. If Neil’s packing, if he’s leaving, that means starting over, and never speaking to Andrew again, and…

Apologies start tumbling out of his mouth, and his hands shake so hard that he loses grip on the button to call Andrew.

“Nothing. It’s fine—” It’s not, he can’t stay—“I... need to go. I can’t be here. I have to—”

“Neil. I can’t help you unless you talk to me.”

“I can’t. I need to go— I need to— I need—”

“You need to breathe.”

He drops the radio and his hands hit the floor. He’s hyperventilating. Knowing that doesn’t help him stop. It just makes it worse. The panic builds up and chokes him.

“Neil, listen to me. Follow my instructions, okay?”

Andrew’s voice is a lifeline. Neil’s grip is weak but he tries to hold on to it. Andrew’s guiding him through breathing, counting out inhales, pauses and exhales for him. Neil curls on the floor and struggles to follow. He’s convinced that Andrew will give up on him eventually. Yet Andrew stays with him, not even knowing if Neil’s listening because Neil hasn’t been able to respond.

After what feels like eons, Neil’s breathing finally levels back out. With trembling fingers, he weakly picks the radio back up and manages to cut into the line when Andrew pauses between repeating his directions.

“Okay,” Neil croaks.

“There you are,” Andrew drawls, voice lacking any hint of pity or sympathy. Neil appreciates that. “Are you done?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. His throat feels sore. His limbs are jittery, buzzing with the remains of his fight or flight response. He’s done neither. He froze up, and where he’s from, that’s how you get yourself killed.

“Where are you?”

“Tower.”

“Go get some water and drink it. Tell me when you’ve finished.”

He doesn’t think he has the strength to push himself to his feet, but he takes it slow and uses the wall to support himself as he stands. Everything feels numb. He goes through the motions of pouring himself a cup of water. He sips at it once or twice, but ends up abandoning most of it on the counter.

“Done.”

“Go get into bed.”

“It’s afternoon.”

“Then pull the covers over your head.”

Neil doesn’t have any more energy to protest. He toes off his shoes and crawls into bed obediently, curling into a ball on his side. He tugs the blanket over himself so he’s cocooned inside. Dim orange light barely outlines the edges of his radio, and he clicks it to life once more.

“Okay.”

“Comfortable?”

“Mm.”

“Good. So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

Neil closes his eyes as the fight leaves his body. He can’t hide anymore. If he’s going to run tomorrow, Andrew at least deserves the truth before he goes.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the fic, please let me know in the comments or by [reblogging](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com/post/183917507249/pushtotalk-ch7)! Feel free to say hi on tumblr too [@alexjosten](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com) ♡


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter 7 Recap:** Neil finds Allison and Renee stranded on a riverbank in need of rescue. After he saves them, Allison recognises him as Nathaniel Wesninski. Having his identity discovered triggers a panic attack, which Andrew pulls him out of over the radio. Neil intends on running away in the morning, but first he decides he owes Andrew the truth before he disappears from his life.
> 
>  **Warnings for this chapter:** Brief descriptions of violence and one mention of suicide.

****

 

**Day 31**

 

Neil tells Andrew everything.

He starts at the beginning. Growing up with his father’s violence, the knife lessons with Lola and the Exy skirmishes his mother would take him to. He recounts the day of his aptitude test and witnessing his father murder a man in front of him and Kevin.

He talks about being an awkward third wheel during high school, with Kevin and Riko joined at the hip and him always trailing behind. The excitement he felt when Jean joined their perfect Court, which was dashed when he learned the truth of the transactions that bought them both. The denial he and Kevin were in when they weren’t sure if Riko was getting more violent or if the stress of collegiate-level competition was just piling on top of them all. The helplessness once they realised they couldn’t do anything to stop Riko hurting Jean unless they wanted to be next.

He admits his jealousy when Kevin’s hand was broken beyond repair, and how he spent years wishing he could get an easy ticket out of their Exy jailcell like that. Then he remembers the emptiness he felt when Renee rescued Jean, but left him behind.

When Riko found out that both Kevin and Jean had removed their tattoos, he turned on Neil thinking he would betray him next. He hurt Neil so badly he needed to play their championship game doped up on Codeine. He was sloppy and uncoordinated and when the buzzer signaled that the Ravens lost to the Trojans that night, Riko blamed him.

In front of millions of viewers, Riko tried to cave in Neil’s head on the court. The only reason Neil survived was because Jean stopped him.

He recalls simultaneously laughing and choking back tears when he heard about Riko’s suicide days later, unable to pinpoint his emotions around losing an abusive person that had been part of his life for several years.

The other Ravens blamed him for Riko’s death. They said if he had played better, Riko wouldn’t have lost his temper and publicly shamed his family. If he hadn’t been so weak, the investigations that led to Tetsuji’s removal would never have happened.

Neil naively thought things would get better once they were gone, but instead of the source of their problems coming from only two men, it bled out to the hivemind. Nobody knew who was going to enforce Riko’s ideals next. The only thing that kept Neil moderately safe was the three tattooed on his cheek, the common consensus being that the Ravens needed him in order to win Championships.

That last shield was ripped from him when his fifth year concluded with no trophy to show for it. When the news about Nathan went public on his graduation night, he was cornered by his teammates. He played and lived alongside them for five years, but he can’t recall who held him down or who took the lighter to his face. All he remembers is them saying if Riko couldn’t be court, neither could he.

He talks until his voice goes hoarse. Andrew listens silently through it all. Neil would question if Andrew was even still there if he didn’t know him better. When Neil finally falls silent, Andrew waits a beat before speaking.

“So tell me exactly why you’re running again?”

“What? I just told you.”

“Your father is dead, and you’re too recognisable to replace him. Riko is dead too. You’re not playing Exy anymore, so your former teammates have no motive for chasing you down.”

“The Moriyamas…”

“Want nothing to do with Edgar Allan’s tarnished reputation. When was the last time you spoke to someone from the main branch?”

“How do you know that?”

“Kevin went through this as well.”

Neil feels cold. “You know Kevin?”

“Everyone knows Kevin Day.”

“Not that well. I thought you didn’t even like Exy.”

“I don’t.”

“Then…?”

“He complains to me about his problems.”

“Are you his therapist?”

“Something like that.”

Neil chews his thumb. This explains why Andrew’s taken everything in stride about Edgar Allan. But the chance of him coming all the way out here and meeting someone who personally knows Kevin feels too coincidental. His skin itches.

Andrew interrupts his thoughts. “Before you get all tangled up in some conspiracy to convince yourself that I’m out to get you too, let me remind you that I was here first. You came here of your own volition. If I wanted to hurt you, I’ve had your coordinates since day one. I haven’t.”

“I wasn’t… I didn’t…”

“ _Mhm._ I know you, Neil. You’re not that hard to figure out.”

“Sorry,” Neil mumbles.

“Don’t be. I would question your survival instincts if you blindly trusted someone you’ve never even met.”

Neil bites his tongue to stop himself from admitting that until Kevin’s name left Andrew’s mouth, he _had_ trusted him implicitly.

“Look. You are free to leave this park at any time, the choice is yours. I can’t stop you. But unless there’s something else you’re not telling me, you don’t have anything to be afraid of. Although if you want to stay, I need you to feel safe here.”

What if Andrew was right? Was he really just running from ghosts that weren’t even chasing him?

“So what will it be?” Andrew prompts him, “What would it take to make you feel safe?”

"Just tell me where to find a gun."

"Yeah… someone made the choice years ago that leaving people with infinite amounts of alone time and a gun was kind of a bad idea."

"Grenades?" Neil jokes weakly.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

-

**Day 32**

 

Neil stays.

In the afternoon, Andrew calls to remind him his food shipment has arrived. It’s a few days late because of the storm, but Neil had rationed his supplies enough that he wasn’t worried. His palms are still red raw from rescuing Renee, so he empties his backpack so he can use that to carry his supplies home. Then he sets off.

He jumps at every rustle in the bushes, and his knuckles remain white around his defence weapon—the screwdriver of his multitool—the entire way to the supply box. He opens the lid carefully, half expecting a trap or someone to jump out at him, but nothing happens.

Inside are cardboard parcels for each of the nearby lookouts, but there’s something extra sitting on top of the box addressed to Foxtrot Tower. It's a flat, circular tin and a white coffee mug with the national park’s crest on the side. A lone dandelion is sticking triumphantly out of the top of the mug, packed in tightly with soil.

Neil calls Andrew.

“What are these?”

“Welcoming gifts, since you’ve chosen to stick around.”

“You’re giving me a weed? Wow.”

“A weed is simply a plant growing where you don’t want it to grow.” Andrew drawls. “No need to be so judgemental.”

“But… why?”

“I figured even a trainwreck like you could keep a dandelion alive. Think of it as a pet project.”

“So let me guess, the symbolic meaning of a dandelion is ‘annoying nuisance you can’t get rid of’?”

“Actually, because dandelions can thrive in difficult conditions, they represent healing from emotional pain and physical injury, surviving through life’s challenges and having your wishes fulfilled, but believe what you want.”

Neil huffs, flustered. It’s unexpectedly thoughtful from Andrew.

“What’s in the tin?”

“It’s a chamomile healing salve for your hands. You can probably use it on your attitude as well.”

Neil unscrews the tin and finds a pale yellow salve inside.

“You just had this sitting around?”

“I made it last night.”

“You _made_ this?” Neil swipes a finger in the top and smears it on the inside of his palm. It’s soothing and has a mild floral scent.

“What, like, it’s hard? Don’t act so shocked.”

Neil screws it shut and slips it into his pocket. He’s only used the salve on his hand, but somehow his heart feels warm too.

“Thanks.”

-

**Day 40**

 

His nerves resist for one day, but then Neil settles back into his familiar routine. He wishes Andrew a good morning, goes for his run, washes off, eats lunch. He uses the salve every day and the marks on his hands fade quickly. Afternoons and evenings fly by when he’s chatting away with Andrew about everything and nothing, and he finds his paranoia doesn’t have time to catch up with him when he’s falling asleep mid conversation with him in the small hours of the morning.

Over time, he forms a growing collection of polaroids. Mostly they’re snaps of interesting flowers or trees he’s discovered on his morning runs, but sometimes when he’s quiet enough he manages to get close to other park creatures, like river otters and bighorn sheep, and once he even snaps a peregrine falcon soaring overhead.

He also documents the growth of his dandelion, as the little yellow leaves arch and preen in the sunlight. After a few days they curl in on themselves, huddling together in a little green bundle. Neil worries at first that he truly is a harbinger of death and has managed to kill a weed, but Andrew reassures him that it’s a normal part of the plant’s life cycle.

Sure enough, after a few more days the wilted head drops off, leaving behind a pristine fluffy white orb. Neil stares at it in disbelief and calls Andrew, confused.

“Andrew, my dandelion’s gone weird.”

“Did aphids get to it?”

“Aphids?”

“Greenflies? Tiny little bastards that destroy perfectly good plants.”

“No, no, it’s gone all white and puffy. It looks like a puffball dandelion now.”

“...a puffball dandelion.”

“You know, the white versions.”

“Oh, Neil. You sweet, sheltered city child.”

“What?”

“They’re the same thing. There aren’t two types of dandelions.”

“Wait, really?”

“You’re going to go nuts when I tell you what a caterpillar turns into.”

“Fuck off,” Neil grumbles. He can feel his cheeks heating up. “They didn’t let us out much at Edgar Allan.”

“Clearly not.”

“So what does it mean then? Now that it’s like this— is it dead?”

“It means I’d blow you.”

“Ha, very funny. Don’t tell me then.”

Andrew sighs, long and suffering. “It means you can make a wish on it, if you want. Just don’t blow it outside or it’ll spread like crazy.”

“Mm, alright.” Neil presses his Instax to his cheek and clicks a photo of the puffball first. “What should I wish for?”

“I don’t know, it’s your wish. What do you want?”

Neil thinks about all the things he’s wanted over the years and how they’ve gone bad one way or another. Wishing he could play Exy every day, and instead receiving a life of servitude. Envying Kevin and Riko’s friendship, and then witnessing it turn nasty. Hoping he could have a partner of his own, but not if it meant watching Jean be tortured.

Dreaming that his father would die, but not realising it would smear his own reputation. Praying his career would end, and being unprepared for the crippling paranoia that would fill its void. Admitting he wanted to meet Andrew, only to be turned down.

Neil chewed his lip. “I’m not sure. What would you wish for?”

“I don’t believe in wishes.”

“What do you believe in?”

“Doing things myself.”

“He says, while sitting in his tower and sending me all over the park to chase down campers and put out their fires.”

“Well, if you want to figure out their locations on your own, wander aimlessly unable to find them, then burn to death from a totally preventable fire… be my guest.”

“You say the sweetest things to me.”

“I try.”

**  
-**

**Day 60**

 

As the weeks drag on, the park gets drier. One night of rain during a summer of drought is not enough to reduce the fire danger level, and the warnings go up. Neil stays vigilant, watching the borders of his sector and waiting for any sign of danger.

Incredibly, his sector remains safe. But Moss Peak, a mile to his east, isn’t so lucky.

Neil spots the smoke even before Andrew calls him. They haven’t identified the cause of the fire yet and they’re having trouble keeping things under control. The flames keep dancing out of the grasp of the fire marshals. Every time they put one out, another flickers to life nearby.

“They’re going to have to do a controlled burn,” Andrew explains.

“What if it spreads over here?”

“Someone gets fired.”

“...was that a joke? Come on, really?”

“It won’t reach you. That’s the whole point of back burning.”

The threat of fire always felt so distant that it was difficult to believe it could ever reach him. Now, the billowing ash clouds are palpable on the border of his sector. He bounces his knee under his desk, chews on his pencil, and glances at his bag more than a few times. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Andrew. If the fire was started by someone who wanted to hurt Neil, it would have happened in his sector, not the next one over. But still...

One more look at the charcoal skies makes him cave. He shoves a few things in his bag, tugs on his running shoes and is out the door a minute later. The air is woody and heavy, stronger now that he’s outside. The woods are eerily quiet, as if all of the birds have fled. Neil supposes the rabbits have, too.

Running helps clear his head. He doesn’t plan where he’s going, so his legs predictably lead him north towards Andrew’s sector. He slows once he passes Mule Point and sips at his water. His heart is pounding but his hands are steady. He convinces himself he’ll be okay.

The sunlight catches a glint in the grass up ahead. He pushes past dry blades and finds a faded yellow cache box, almost completely obscured by both the height and colour of the surrounding fauna. It only takes a second to pop it open.

Inside are the usual things: a map of the surrounding area, a pine cone (again? why.) and another letter. A quick glance at the handwriting tells him it’s another note between the two separated lovers with French nicknames. He tucks it into his bag, planning on reading it to Andrew later.

There’s a rustle nearby. He goes still. Crouched down, the grass is too tall for him to see past. He hears footsteps thunk down into the earth.

He begins repeating a mantra in his head: _It’s not a person. It’s probably a deer._

Neil convinces himself of this so resolutely that he pulls out his camera. He stares at his hands and waits for the trembling to stop. _It’s a deer. I’ll take a photo of her and she’ll leave. Then I’ll finish my run and go home. It’s fine. I’m fine._

He stands up. He can’t see her, so he wades through the grass until he finds…

a small brown bear.

It’s a cub, likely only a few months old. If she was standing, she would only come up to Neil’s knees. Sitting on her butt, she stares up at Neil curiously. She’s probably never seen a human before and well, Neil’s never seen a bear in person before either. The round fluffy ears, pale snout and soft black nose make her look like a toy. She might possibly be the cutest thing Neil has ever seen.

He lifts his camera to his face without thinking.

The click of the lens and the whirr of the polaroid printing brings him back to his senses. If there’s a cub here, that means her mother won’t be far. Cold dread drips into his gut as he looks around. He doesn’t see her… yet.

He shoves his camera in his bag and starts walking away quickly. His heart is thumping so hard he can feel it in his throat. The Supply Drop is straight up ahead and if he can make it there he’ll be safe…. and that’s when he hears it.

The unmistakable, guttural roar of a pissed off mother bear.

All of Neil’s training blanks in his mind in that second. He turns around, confirms it’s an angry bear by looking her in the face, and then fucking runs.

The thing about running for your life is that it’s nothing like the movies. There isn’t a chance to look over your shoulder to check if your pursuer is gaining on you. You can’t conveniently trip over a tree root for the drama and still get up and escape afterwards. If you come to a junction with a sign post pointing one way to safety and the other way to danger, you won’t be able to read it or make a decision. You just have to run.

So when he makes it to the edge of his sector and realises that there’s no cable car box waiting to take him to safety, he just has to keep going.

He skids down the shale slide towards the natural rock bridge and cuts his hands catching himself along the way. He doesn’t have time to line himself up for the jump. So he runs towards Andrew's sector and leaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra special thank you to [puddlejumper99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddlejumper99) who provided loads of great information and tips about National Parks and bear safety for this chapter! In her words, bears are "like big dumb stoners with knife hands" and generally will avoid humans unless bear cubs are involved. What Neil should have done is: "Stand your ground, hold your pack above your head to look bigger, talk calmly and don't make eye contact, slowly back away. If they charge, use bear spray." Of course, Neil's a city kid who doesn't even know how dandelions work, so clearly he's not that smart.
> 
> If you liked the fic, please let me know in the comments or by [reblogging](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com/post/184011856779/pushtotalk-ch8)! Feel free to say hi on tumblr too [@alexjosten](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com) ♡


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've all been so incredible to me by commenting and reblogging this story that I felt inspired to write more for this AU. Chapter 9 was clocking in at over 7000 words so I split it in half, which means there will be one more final chapter after this. Thank you for reading and joining me on this journey!
> 
>  **Chapter 8 Recap:** Neil reveals his past to Andrew, but Andrew responds with cold logic on why he shouldn't need to run anymore. Neil ends up staying in the park for another month, during which he and Andrew become closer. Then, a fire breaks out in Moss Peak. Neil manages to agitate and get chased by a bear, so he runs towards Andrew's sector and leaps.
> 
>  **Warnings for this chapter:** Non-graphic descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood.

  
Neil lands on the other side of the ravine with a sickening crunch. His ankle buckles underneath him and he collapses in a heap. Rocks and pebbles skitter down the cliff face behind him, and he only just has enough energy to roll himself over and look back at where he’s come from.

At the top of the ravine the bear is pacing, trying to find a way to him. The path Neil slid down is too narrow for a creature so large, and she seems to recognise if she tried climbing down she would likely fall to her death. She huffs and grunts in frustration.

Neil thinks to himself: _Andrew’s never going to believe this._ Inanely, that thought makes him take his camera out of his bag and snap a photo of the bear. She gives up and leaves as it starts printing.

A laugh bubbles its way up Neil’s throat. Once it surfaces, he can’t stop. Giggles start flooding out in waves that cramp up his stomach with their intensity.

For the past two months, every time he’s been scared it’s been for nothing. This was the first time he’s actually been in danger, and it wasn’t from his father’s men, Ravens or Moriyamas. It was just as Andrew said: there’s nothing to worry about out here except for fires or bears.

His ankle is throbbing and his hands are bleeding freely from where he’d cut and grazed them on the rocks. He pushes himself up with great difficulty and hobbles over to the slope that leads back up to the gondola, but once he gets to the first bit of incline he realises he can’t do this on one foot.

He takes out his radio.

“Hey, Andrew.”

“What?”

“You know how you always told me to bring my radio with me in case I needed to call for help?”

Andrew sighs. “What have you done this time?”

“I kind of tripped down a shale cliff and was chased by a bear.”

“Very funny.”

“No, really. So could you send some help before I get kidnapped and murdered? Thanks.”

“...You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“You’re unbelievable. Where are you?”

Neil tells him and Andrew goes quiet for a few minutes. Neil assumes he’s calling in a rescue on a different radio channel. He expects to feel unsettled about the idea of some strangers being sent to his location where he’s prone and defenceless. The feeling never comes. Maybe he’s in shock, or maybe he’s just given up on caring.

“So, tell me exactly how you ended up being chased by a bear?”

“Well, I found her cub…”

“And then what?”

“She saw me, and I ran.”

“...didn't you receive any training before you came here?”

“I blanked.”

“You’re meant to stand your ground, hold your bag above your head, talk calmly and slowly back away.”

“Well, I can remember that _now!_ ”

“You’re lucky you’re alive.”

“I know.”

Andrew keeps Neil company over the radio while he waits for help to come. An hour or so passes, and he watches the sun sink in the distance. Yellow bleeds into orange then pink into purple, the colours sucking up all the clouds around them until all that’s left is a cold evening sky.

He doesn’t have a flashlight or anything useful with him. All he had packed during his rush was his stack of polaroids and his notepad. Things that would burn if the fire reached the tower.

He shivers and tries not to let his teeth chatter audibly while he talks to Andrew. He’s unable to rub his arms to warm up in case he reopens the wounds on his hands. Occasionally he tests his ankle to see if it’s magically healed itself since the time he checked ten minutes ago, but he thinks he might be stuck down here for good.

“Andrew, I don’t think they’re coming for me.”

“Of course they’re not.”

Neil’s heart sinks. “They’re not?”

“I am.”

A beam of light skitters across Neil’s feet and he looks up the slope to the source of the flashlight. It’s too dark to make out the figure holding it, but when Neil lifts his radio to his mouth, he can hear his words being echoed from not too far away.

"Didn’t you call for a rescue helicopter?”

“You assumed. I never said that I did.”

“I thought you didn’t want to meet me.”

“I thought you wouldn’t want to be picked up by a bunch of strangers.”

“You assumed,” Neil mimics cheekily, despite the warmth blooming in his chest at Andrew having considered him. “But this is okay too.”

Andrew pauses. “Can I come down?”

“Yes.”

Neil follows the light as Andrew carefully scales down the narrow path hugging the ravine. It’s too dark to make out his face, and all he catches are flashlight glimpses of his legs and feet as he clambers over the boulders marring the route. Small pebbles are scattered by his shoes and they disappear into the darkness. Neil can’t hear them hit the ground.

When Andrew’s finally in front of him, Neil asks, “Come to kidnap and murder me?”

“Are you trying to give me a reason to push you off this cliff?”

He sounds achingly familiar. Andrew’s voice is more crisp and real than Neil had ever thought possible, the radio having never transmitted the finer details of his raspy tone.

“It’s a long way down.” Neil’s heart skips a beat. “Want to come with me?”

“Maybe another time.” Andrew crouches in front of him and directs the flashlight towards Neil’s ankle. Above his sock, it’s bruised and swollen. “Can you walk?”

“Kind of.” Neil offers up his bloodied hands for inspection, and Andrew flicks the light to them. “But I can’t pull myself up past the boulders.”

“Okay.” The light shifts to the path, and Andrew examines how wide of an area they have to work with. He then turns back to Neil. “I’ll steady you as we walk up and then I’ll help boost you up. Alright?”

“Yeah.” Neil breathes.

He’s not prepared for how warm Andrew’s hands are as he pulls him to his feet and loops Neil’s arm over his broad shoulders. His heart ticks into overtime as Andrew’s arm curls around his waist, steadying his hip as Neil hobbles up the path.

Neil can feel Andrew’s heartbeat thumping in his neck against the sensitive skin of his upper arm. He wonders if it’s because of the exertion, his fear of heights, or, wistfully, because of him.

They get to the first jut of rock, which stops at roughly chest height. Neil remembers struggling to climb over it when he came here before, and he has no idea how he’ll manage now with his hands messed up. Andrew places the flashlight down so it vaguely illuminates the ledge and then turns to Neil.

“Rest your forearms on my shoulders.”

It takes Neil a fumbling moment in the dark to figure out where Andrew’s shoulders are. They’re chest to chest, and before he can register how close Andrew’s lips are to his, Andrew grabs his hips and effortlessly lifts him up to plop him on the ledge above.

“Holy fuck,” Neil gasps. “You’re strong.”

Neil can hear a smug little snort, and then a rustle as Andrew climbs up the rock next to him. He picks up the flashlight, helps Neil to his feet, and they continue up the path. Neil’s still not prepared the next two times Andrew lifts him to help him up each obstacle in the path, and he has no idea how to process the intense wanting that seems to consume every fibre of his being. The sheer drop next to him feels trivial in comparison to the swooping sensation that comes with finally meeting him. It’s hard to feel scared when Andrew’s mere presence makes him feel so safe.

His unexpected giddiness sizzles out a little when they finally make it back to level land. Moss Peak is still blazing over the treetops, and the metallic cables of the gondola glint faintly in the firelight. Neil’s arm tenses around Andrew’s shoulders and Andrew flicks the flashlight between Neil’s face and the stationary cable car.

“Don’t even think about it,” Andrew says, “I’m not going in that thing, and neither are you.”

Neil looks to him, even though he can barely make out where his face is in the dark, “What? But I need to go back.”

“You’re not going far with your ankle like that, and you’re in no condition for a reunion with your pal Yogi Bear.”

“What about work?”

“Take a sick day.”

“I don’t think that’s how this job works.”

“It is now. Consider yourself officially on holiday.”

They turn away from Neil’s sector and maneuver onto a wide dirt path lined by trees. Neil’s limp is getting worse with time, and he can’t prevent jostling against Andrew’s side as he tries to avoid putting weight on his bad ankle. After a few minutes, Andrew sighs and stops.

“Can you hold this?”

Andrew’s arm disappears from around Neil’s waist and his fingers slide down his forearms to find his hands. For a stupid second, Neil thinks that Andrew wants him to hold his hand, but then he gently places the flashlight into his palms. It stings, but Neil can just about grip it without too much pain.

“Yeah, but why?”

“I’m kidnapping you. Get on my back.”

Neil catches a glimpse of blonde hair as Andrew turns his back to him and crouches in front of the beam of light. Neil’s heart skips as he recognises the grey sweatshirt he’s wearing as the one he sent him.

“Are you sure?”

“I refuse to spend four hours helping you limp there when we can make it in two. Get on."

Neil doesn’t need to be told a third time. He carefully slots his legs around Andrew’s back, loops his arms over his shoulders and then in a woosh of vertigo, his feet are dangling in the air and Andrew’s hands are hooked under his knees. Neil’s certain his heart is racing so hard Andrew can feel it against his back. He focuses on righting the flashlight to illuminate the path ahead of them.

“Okay?” Andrew checks.

“Yep.” Neil mumbles.

“Let’s go.”

-

Andrew alternates between piggybacking Neil and helping him limp by his side, only needing a few breaks along the way. They slip into an easy conversation and Neil thinks he might never get enough of Andrew’s voice. Talking to him in person is so much more natural and fluid than waiting for the delay of a radio click. Feeling Andrew’s voice reverberate against his chest when he’s hiked up on his back is something else entirely.

Andrew’s tower comes into view, a glowing beacon visible through the thinning trees. The moonlight picks out its silhouette, and Neil notes the differences to his tower. Instead of being a rickety, wooden structure balanced precariously up hundred foot high wooden legs, it’s built on top of a natural bluff that sits far above the treeline. The cabin is stout, with maybe only twenty steps leading up to the wooden balcony that surrounds all four sides. Underneath the observatory deck is a solid building with stone walls, likely housing the elusive shower Andrew once bragged about.

It looks sturdy and unmovable. It suits him.

Andrew gently lets Neil down off his back when they get to the stairs, and his arm returns around his waist to help steady him as they move up the steps. Focusing on not tripping, Neil keeps his eyes trained on the ground.

Andrew only lets go of him to unlock the cabin door. His side feels cold from where Andrew’s body heat is missing. He hears a click and the groan of the door opening, and then he finally looks up to find Andrew’s face illuminated by the cabin’s light.

After having spent time sketching Andrew’s face in detail, Neil was expecting a certain level of vague recognition.

He wasn’t expecting to _know_ him.

_“Minyard?”_

Andrew quirks an eyebrow at him, “Josten.”

“You’re—you were the goalie for the Foxes.”

“Yes.”

“You shut us out of Championships two years in a row—”

“Mhm.”

“We had your face on a dart board in the break room.”

“Did you now.” Andrew’s lips twitch up at the side.

“I…” Neil’s mouth opens and closes ineffectually, before he sputters out, “So that’s how you know Kevin.”

“Do you want to have this revelation outside in the cold, or do you want to come in?”

Having spent so many years hating the mere idea of ‘Andrew Minyard’, he almost wants to stubbornly stay outside just to spite him. He has to force his brain to remind himself that this is the same Andrew from the radio, who accepted that Neil shed his old name and past. He could do the same for Andrew.

He steps past the threshold.

The layout of Andrew’s cabin is slightly different to his, but the contents are much the same. A FireFinder is in the middle of the room, and a desk, bed and kitchenette all claim their own walls. The primary difference is Andrew’s cabin actually looks lived in, with personal effects scattered around, and various plants inhabiting the windowsills living in tin cans or coffee mugs. Neil spots an ancient CRT TV propped up on a dresser at the foot of the bed, a DVD player hooked up to it with a stack of movies teetering on top.

He’s just caught sight of his polaroids tacked to the window in front of the desk when Andrew shoves some towels at him.

“There’s a shower downstairs. Go clean up and then we can talk.”

The shower is rudimentary at best. It works off of a pump that generates enough noise to sound like a garbage disposal, yet it only manages to cough up the tiniest trickle of water. But it’s the first warm shower Neil’s had in two months, and it beats washing off in streams and under waterfalls.  
  
Neil’s brain loop of ‘I can’t believe he’s Andrew fucking _Minyard’_ slams to a stop when he mindlessly pours shampoo onto the cuts on his palms. He yelps, and literally can’t wash it off fast enough to prevent the stinging. Round two involves carefully squirting shampoo onto the tips of his fingers, most of which disappears wastefully down the drain. His attempts to massage it into his scalp are hazardous. The only consolation is it smells of the Andrew who just walked two hours to rescue him from the side of a cliff, and then spent another two hours _carrying him_ here.

When he picks up the towels to dry off, he discovers a loose t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants underneath them. The irony of the fact that Andrew is wearing Neil’s sweatshirt while Neil gets changed into Andrew’s clothes isn’t lost on him.

He hobbles back upstairs to find Andrew pouring two mugs of tea. A set of bandages are laid out on his desk, and when he sees Neil he motions for him to sit. Andrew wraps Neil’s sprained ankle first, and is half way through disinfecting Neil’s hands when Neil finally finds his voice.

“How long have you known?”

“Known what?”

“That we already knew each other.”

“I suspected it since day one when you mentioned your partner. Confirmed it when you described yourself to me two weeks later. Neil isn’t exactly a huge jump from your old name.”

Neil’s unprepared for the wave of relief when Andrew avoids saying _Nathaniel_. He slumps in the chair, half regretting ever suggesting they draw each other, but he sighs when he realises it wouldn’t have changed tonight’s revelation anyway.

“Wait. When you said you look like Aaron, you couldn’t have mentioned that you were his literal twin?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You pretended to forget his name!”

“He’s not very memorable, really.”

“You could have just told me your last name. You listed all those random celebrities for nothing—”

“You know Draco Malfoy isn’t a real person, right?”

“Oh my god. _Andrew._ ”

“I wasn’t exactly being subtle. I even mentioned my cousin Nicky by name.”

“Nicky...?”

“Hemmick.”

“Wait, Hemmick’s your cousin? You don’t look anything alike.”

“You didn’t know?”

“I only knew your jersey numbers and stats, not your life story.”

“It was publicised enough. Amongst other things.”

“I don’t really make a habit of snooping into people’s private lives. I know how it feels.”

Andrew hums, and finishes wrapping Neil’s palms. He moves the mug of tea in front of Neil with a clunk and picks up his own. Hands bundled in giant cotton wads, Neil has to awkwardly balance the tea between his fingertips in order to take a sip. It has a herbal taste, with hints of lemon and peppermint. A lavender undertone in the steam soothes his rough edges.

“Why didn’t you tell me we met before?” Neil asks.

“By met, you mean shaking hands during a victory line-up and saying ‘good game’? It didn’t matter. I’m not the person I was in university anymore, and neither are you. It was pretty clear you were after a fresh start.”

Neil stares into his mug, floored by how considerate Andrew has been all this time. If Neil had known Andrew knew his true identity back then, he would have left the park months ago.

“So what now?” Neil asks.

“Stay here for a few days. If your ankle improves, I’ll take you back. If it gets worse, we can get you airlifted out.”

Weirdly, Neil kind of hopes his ankle stays sprained.

“Alright. And for tonight?” He glances at the single bed.

“You take it. I don’t sleep much anyway.”

“But—”

“You’re injured. I have a spare cot and a sleeping bag if I get tired.”

Neil sighs. “Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to [moonix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/) who fed me snacks while I finished writing this chapter, and also inspired some dialogue ♡
> 
> If you liked the fic, please let me know in the comments or by [reblogging](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com/post/184087992464/pushtotalk-ch9)! Feel free to say hi on tumblr too [@alexjosten](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com) ♡


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... this is it! The final chapter, for real this time. Thank you for coming along on this crazy ride with me. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
>  **Chapter 9 Recap:** Neil injures his ankle and Andrew brings him back to his own cabin. When Neil sees Andrew in the light for the first time, he realises that he knows him. Neil stays the night in Andrew's cabin to wait for his injuries to heal.

**  
**  
  
Day 61 

 

Neil wakes in the morning to the sound of the radio. He squints open his eyes as a staticky pop song floats around the shape of Andrew hunched over his desk. The mattress creaks as he props himself up on an elbow to peer around the room. The sleeping bag is still bundled up tightly in the corner, so he assumes Andrew didn’t sleep.

“Morning,” Neil mumbles.

Andrew turns over his shoulder to glance at Neil, and then walks to the bed. He has a small games console in one hand, and he motions with it to get Neil to shuffle to the edge. Andrew kneels over him to flop on the other side, sandwiched up against the wall on top of the blankets. They only just fit like this, shoulder to shoulder, but Neil’s pretty sure if he relaxes he’ll slip over the edge of the mattress onto the floor.

“You didn’t sleep.” Neil notes.

“Not tired.”

The dark smudges under Andrew’s eyes betray him. He brings his game back up in front of his face to keep playing.

“Is that the game you told me about?”

“Mmm,” Andrew tilts the screen so Neil can see, and Neil curls on his side to get a better look. Andrew’s character is running around, shaking trees and handing pieces of fruit to small colourful animals. Neil focuses on it for all of two seconds before his attention is drawn to the fact he and Andrew are sharing a pillow. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this relaxed around anyone in his life.

That thought nearly lulls him back to sleep. He hears a thump and a soft curse, and his eyes snap open. Andrew’s game had slipped out of his hands and smacked him in the face.

Neil would have laughed if he didn’t feel so guilty for stealing Andrew’s bed. “You’re tired.”

“Quite an astute observation, my dear Josten.” Andrew mumbles.

Neil peels off the blanket and slips out of the bed. He’s a bit clumsy, trying not to put pressure on his bandaged hands while he hops on one foot.

“Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

“Not going to happen,” Andrew protests, but tugs the blanket over himself anyway.

Neil limps over to the desk and sits himself down, picking up Andrew’s pencil and flipping open his log books. Andrew’s writing is neat and tidy, worlds apart from Neil’s usual chicken-scratch, and he feels some pressure to make his notes more legible.

He’s not sure if Andrew ever does sleep in the end. Neil keeps his back to him to give him some modicum of privacy, and Andrew doesn’t make any noise. He entertains himself by exploring Andrew’s desk.

Pinned up next to his polaroids of the doe and aspens is the doodle Andrew made of him. It’s a crude stick figure with a tiny Christmas tree sticking out of a circle-shaped hand. Large letters are printed next to it with an arrow labelling the Christmas tree as ‘A KNIFE’.

It does not look like a knife. Neil considers offering Andrew drawing lessons later.

Next to it is a postcard depicting a sunny beach scene from Los Angeles. Neil’s limiting his snooping to simple observation, so he doesn’t take it down to read the back. Andrew’s left a bullet journal open on his desk, decorated by strips of washi tape with bumblebees on them. He gently flips it closed before he becomes tempted to read any of it.

He eventually busies himself by ‘solving’ Andrew’s crossword book with made up solutions that are definitely not the answers, but still fit into the spaces. He gets so carried away that the next time he looks up, several hours have passed.

There’s a noise behind him. He turns in his chair and finds Andrew standing at the kitchenette, blanket bundled around his shoulders like a shawl and jar of peanut butter in his hands. He glances over his shoulder at Neil and lifts it in question.

“You allergic?”

“No.”

Andrew nods, and then shortly later brings two plates with peanut butter and jam sandwiches over. He places one in front of Neil and then drags an upturned crate closer to sit on, as there aren’t any other chairs in the cabin. Neil looks at their sandwiches and notices the crusts have been cut off and they’ve been sliced into quarters.

“Did you sleep?” Neil asks.

“Think I drifted for a bit,” Andrew shrugs one shoulder and stuffs his mouth.

Neil turns back to his sandwich and nibbles on a corner. It’s peaceful, until the song on the radio ends and the morning news report begins.

“And now, for sports. Matt Donovan Boyd reports.”

“Today’s breaking story; the Exy world is in shock as the ERCC officially barred Edgar Allan University from operating and owning an Exy team. This comes after an FBI investigation busted open a crime ring run by the Moriyama family, widely known investors in the University’s collegiate team, the Edgar Allan Ravens.

This comes as a second blow to the school’s reputation after a two month-long police search failed to find any trace of missing alumni student, Nathaniel Wesninski. The twenty-three year old was reported missing by Exy superstar Kevin Day when he failed to respond to any offers from professional teams.”

Camera shutters and the murmur of a press conference can be heard in the background when Kevin’s voice floats over the air waves, “Nathaniel is a promising backliner with a lot of talent and potential. But not only that, he and I grew up together. We may have played on different collegiate teams, but he’s like a brother to me. I want him to know he’ll always have a home here with the New York Giants. A reward is available for anyone who has information that can lead to him being found.”

“Nathaniel’s family was unavailable for comment. And now, for the tennis…”

Andrew scoffs and abruptly switches to another station. Neil stares blankly at his forgotten sandwich, trying to process the new information.

Andrew isn’t saying anything. The tension and pressure builds up in Neil until he bursts.

“Going to collect your reward, then?”

“I don’t know where Nathaniel Wesninski is.” Andrew says bluntly. He puts down his sandwich and looks at Neil. “I only know Neil Josten.”

Neil inhales sharply. The sun catches flecks of hazel in Andrew’s eyes, and Neil finds himself at a loss for words.

“Do you know where you are?” Andrew asks.

Neil’s gaze flicks to the rest of Andrew’s cabin before replying. “Yes.”

“Do you want to be here?”

Neil looks back to Andrew. “Yes.”

“If you’re not lost, how can you be missing?” Andrew says, “As far as I can tell, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”

Neil can feel a tentative smile wriggling on to his lips. He shyly looks away. “Nice logic you have there.”

“Mm.” Andrew nudges his foot under the desk. “Eat your damn sandwich.”

 

-

 

Andrew naps on and off throughout the day, and only really seems to emerge properly from his blanket cocoon once the sun sets. The routine way Andrew just seems to nod off suggests this is normal for him. Neil suspects he’s diagnosed the reason why Andrew doesn’t sleep properly at night, but he’s not about to call him out on it.

The Moss Peak fire continues to simmer in the distance. Neil’s elbows dig into the railing as he takes a breather outside to watch whorls of burnt umber twist into the night’s sky. The winds have shifted and brought with them the heady, woody smoke, and he can’t help but feel conflicted about enjoying the smell of another sector burning.

There’s a soft click to his left as the cabin door shuts behind him. Andrew comes up next to him and looks out to Moss Peak, propping his chin up on his hand. Neil studies his profile, only partially lit by the light from his cabin, until Andrew catches him staring. His raised eyebrow summons a question from Neil’s lips before he’s fully prepared to ask it.

“What made you decide to come get me?” When Andrew merely gives him a blank stare, Neil looks down at his bandaged hands and nervously picks at his fingernails. “You were right when you said I didn’t want to be picked up by strangers, but… it was a four hour round trip. You didn’t have to do that. You said you didn’t want to let anyone in and I wanted to respect that. If we never met, wouldn’t it have been easier to pretend I wasn’t real?”

“It was too late.”

“Too late to call rescue? But they’re twenty four hours—”

“No.” Andrew sighs. “It was too late to shut you out.”

Neil inhales sharply. “You know I’m only here for the summer.”

“I know I’m delaying the inevitable. I am self-destructive, not stupid.”

The unsaid admission is there. Neil looks up and meets Andrew’s eyes.

“That’s not true. I’ll stay in touch.”

“I don’t need your pity calls from Antarctica.”

“It’s not pity. I want to.” Neil cracks a half smile, “I don’t think I’ll go to Antarctica, anyway.”

“Considering Kevin’s offer?”

Neil’s stomach twists uncomfortably as he imagines holding an Exy racquet again. Could it feel different on a new team, in a healthier environment? Could his passion for the sport ever be reignited, or was it permanently extinguished? His pulse races with a mixture of nausea and fragile hope.

“I need to think about it.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence. The evening air trails a chill down Neil’s spine, and he becomes acutely aware of the warmth from where Andrew’s arm is lightly pressed against his. He doesn’t recall when they became this close, both during the course of their conversation and throughout Neil’s entire stay here.

He thinks back through their conversations and tries to pinpoint it. Somewhere between Andrew’s innocuous flirting, random plant facts, movie references and biting sarcasm, Andrew had wormed under his skin as well. He’d been a solid support through Neil’s panic attacks and was unmovable by Neil’s truths and identity.

He recalls the first time he took the leap to Andrew’s sector and was turned away. His heart squeezes painfully with the memory.

“You know, I never made a wish on my dandelion.” Neil says.

“Why not?”

“Wishing and waiting for things never worked out for me before. If I want something, I’m going to do it for myself from now on.”

“And what _do_ you want?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Andrew’s eyes widening a fraction is the only sign that Neil’s taken him off guard. Neil’s not sure if the flutter in his chest is victory or a sign that he’s just made a horrible decision.

“I thought you weren’t interested.” Andrew says.

“I think it might be nice. With you.” Neil worries his bottom lip before checking, “Can I?”

Andrew’s ‘yes’ is so soft on the wind that Neil’s not sure he heard him correctly until Andrew’s fingertips are trailing along his jaw and tilting his face down to meet his. Neil remembers how to move in time to close the last bit of distance between them, gently pressing his lips against Andrew’s.

Neil has never kissed anyone else before to compare, but he can’t help but think Andrew’s kiss feels like a goodbye. He's guarded, like he's not sure he can have this, body stiff and bracing for it all to be a cruel joke.

Neil’s heart squirms defiantly, and he presses into the kiss until it feels like a hello. Their noses bump and Andrew gasps in response to Neil’s sudden enthusiasm. Neil doesn’t know what he’s doing, so he follows Andrew’s lead when he parts his lips. Andrew’s hesitation is gone when he licks into Neil’s mouth.

Neil was right. He does like this. A lot.

When Andrew pulls back, he asks, “Okay?”

Neil’s panting slightly, not having fully grasped the concept of breathing through his nose while kissing.

“Yeah. Can we do that again?”

Andrew huffs a laugh. “Yeah.”

He leans back in.

-

**Day 62**

 

Neil’s ankle begins to feel better, but Andrew warns him not to hike home quite yet in case he injures it again. Neil thinks he’s just finding excuses to keep him around for longer, which honestly, as long as Andrew keeps kissing him, he’s not going to complain.

They’re eating lunch at Andrew’s desk, watching the smoke from Moss Peak. A helicopter zips over it, letting loose a massive container of water. It doesn’t seem to do anything to quell the flames, but it reminds Neil of something.

“Did you ever hear anything about those girls? The kayakers.”

Half of Andrew’s sandwich is in his mouth, and he kind of looks like a hamster. Neil cracks a grin, and Andrew rolls his eyes and leans past him to tug the Los Angeles postcard from his wall. He flips it over and hands it to Neil to read.

-

_Dear Andrew,_

_Thank you for suggesting we visit Shoshone for our anniversary. It was even more beautiful than you described, and despite a few hiccups (entirely our fault) we enjoyed our stay here. Remember in May when I said Allison had been acting strange? Turns out she was planning on proposing… and I said yes!_

_We came back a few weeks ago to do some kayaking. The river was too rough and we lost our boats. Luckily a really nice man from Foxtrot rescued us both. He wanted to remain anonymous, but I’d love to thank him properly. Perhaps you could pass on a wedding invitation to him for us? Think about it._

_Love, Renee_

_P.S. He’s your type. ;)_

-

Andrew grabs the postcard out of Neil’s hands just as his eyes scan the last bit. Neil smirks.

“I’m your type?”

Andrew swallows his sandwich, “I forgot she wrote that.”

“Mhm,” Andrew ignores him and pins the postcard back up next to Neil’s polaroids. “Wait a sec. You’ve known who they were since the beginning?”

“Not the very beginning, only once you confronted them at the lake and had your shouting match with Allison. That’s why I knew you didn’t have much to be afraid of when she left you that letter.”

“She’s a bit of a bitch,” Neil mutters.

“Renee can do better. I might go to the wedding just so I can object during their vows.”

“It might be worth going just to see that.”

“Want to come?”

“Are you inviting me as your plus one?”

Andrew stares at him for a prolonged moment before shrugging and getting up. “Want some more tea?”

_“Andrew—”_

-

**Day 64**

 

Neil’s ankle is definitely better now. They seem to have a silent agreement to not mention it, however. The closest they get is commenting on how the Moss Peak fire just seems to be growing by the day, the smoke billowing over Foxtrot. The unsaid suggestion is that Neil should stay.

They still don’t share the bed to sleep, but they do cram in shoulder-to-shoulder on top of the blankets to watch movies at night. It usually dissolves fairly quickly into making out, but Andrew will stop them because ‘this is a good bit, you should watch it’, so Neil gets the general gist of the stories nonetheless. He’s not really into movies, but he enjoys spending the time with Andrew.

The credits are rolling on an animated film about a rat who becomes a chef in Paris when Neil remembers he has another letter in his bag from the couple with the French nicknames. He disentangles himself from Andrew to go fetch his bag, and finds his polaroid collection in there too. When he gets back to the bed, he dumps the pile of photos on Andrew’s stomach and lies down next to him.

“You actually stopped to take a photo?” Andrew asks incredulously, holding up the snap of the cub.

“Oh, that was just her baby,” Neil fishes around the pile and pulls out the photo of the mama bear peering over the cliff face at him, “This was the one that chased me. I took a photo in case you didn’t believe me.”

“I believed that you were stupid enough to get chased by a bear. I just didn’t believe you were actually insane enough to take a photo of one.”

Neil merely smiles at him and Andrew gestures at the letter in his hands.

“What’s that?”

“Another letter between ‘mon soleil’ and ‘ta lune’. Wanna read it?”

“Only if you keep pronouncing all the French words like that.”

Neil slips into French to say, “ _What, like this?_ ”

Andrew doesn’t understand, but he still groans. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Neil laughs and opens the letter to read. 

-

_To Spruce Lookout, Sent from Ramshorn Peak  
July 11th 2007_

_Mon soleil,_

_I am unsure if this letter will reach you, as my previous ones seemingly have not. I will continue to try in the hopes that this one will put your mind at ease._

_I feel that a weight has been lifted off of my soul. I sleep easily now, rarely interrupted by the garish memories of The Nest—_

-

Neil stops reading and he looks up to meet Andrew’s eyes. Andrew sits up slightly, the polaroids falling from his stomach onto the bed. He waves at him to continue, listening more intently now.

-

_—and instead I dream about your smile._

_It has only been two months, so perhaps it is premature of me to say this. I know recovery will take a long time. But I find myself looking forward to our reunion more than anything else now. Perhaps we can go to the beach before we return to USC._

_Ta lune_

-

  
Neil finishes reading and stares blankly at the letter.

“Jean wrote this.”

“Moreau?”

“Yeah. The dates—” he gestures at the 2007 at the top, “That’s the summer just after he left Edgar Allan and joined USC. I... didn’t know he came here too.”

Andrew reaches into the fold of the letter and picks out a sunflower seed.

“Looks like he found a boyfriend, too.” He turns the seed in the light. “Sunflowers represent adoration, loyalty and longevity. Fitting, considering they’re still together.”

“What?” Neil looks up, “How do you—”

“Jean Moreau’s relationship with Jeremy Knox has been all over the tabloids for months. Haven’t you heard?”

“I don’t follow celebrity gossip,” Neil huffs.

“Jean was your friend, wasn’t he?”

“We don’t talk anymore.”

“Maybe you should.”

Neil folds up the letter briskly, “Maybe _you_ should talk to your brother.”

There was a long silence where Neil started to worry he overstepped. But then Andrew says:

“Maybe I will.”

-

**Day 66**

 

Neil wakes up to Andrew’s voice. He rolls over and squints his eyes open to find him talking into an antiquated phone, the one that Andrew explained is his connection to headquarters.

“Understood. We’ll be ready.”

He hangs up and turns around to Neil. He doesn’t look surprised to see that he’s already awake.

“HQ just called. Moss Peak is out of control.”

The blanket pools around his waist as Neil sits up to look out the window. Dust clouds and smoke have completely clouded the sky. There’s a low rumbling in the distance as the Moss Peak fire continues to roar, and debris occasionally pebbles against the windows.

“Shit,” he sighs.

There’s a dip on the bed as Andrew sits next to him. “It’s spread to over twenty thousand acres, and it’s still growing.”

“What happens now?”

“They’ll send a chopper out for us soon. Then… I guess they’ll debrief us and send us home.”

‘Home’ is a gut punch to Neil. The closest thing he’s ever had to a home was his father’s house in Baltimore, and then the Nest. The only place that _felt_ like home was seven miles away and about to go up in smoke.

His chest feels tight. He knew the summer wasn’t forever, but to have it cut this short—

Andrew’s hand rests on the back of Neil’s neck and squeezes gently, pulling him out of his head. He feels exposed, like he’s been caught crying, but when he looks up to meet Andrew’s gaze it’s unconcerned and non-judgemental.

“Pack up your things. We don’t have long.”

-

The exhilaration of being in a helicopter for the first time is numbed by seeing acres of the Shoshone on fire. The debrief is dull and uninteresting, and it goes by in a blur. Neil spends most of it looking at Andrew’s profile, wondering if this will be the last time they see each other. Somehow, that’s become more of a pressing concern to him than finding a place to live.

He collects his paycheck in a paper envelope and walks out of headquarters by Andrew’s side. Andrew’s been quiet, and at first Neil thought it was because they were around the other Forest Service personnel, but the silence continues even once they cross the parking lot and they’re alone.

They stop next to a car. It has a dust cover pulled over it to protect it from damage during their stay out there. Andrew leans on it and drums his fingers on the hood of the car. Neil fiddles with the strap on his bag until Andrew speaks.

“So, where are you going now?”

Neil shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ll probably just hitchhike and see where I end up.”

When Andrew doesn’t say anything, Neil glances up. He looks distinctly unimpressed.

“Come with me.”

“Where?”

“To New York.”

Neil sucks in a sharp breath. That’s where—

Andrew continues, “I have an apartment there. You can stay with me until you figure out what you want to do. Whether that involves speaking to Kevin or not, I don’t care.”

Neil opens his mouth to respond but can’t find the words. He just gapes at Andrew. This isn’t just an act of kindness, an offer of a couch for a few nights. Andrew is asking him to choose him. Someone who truly knows him and all his horrible secrets, yet still makes him feel safe despite the vulnerability that brings. It’s a chance to start again.

“Yes or no, Neil?”

He says yes.

 

###  **EPILOGUE**

 

**ONE WEEK LATER**

 

The only upside of the Shoshone National Park going on fire and ending Neil’s stay out there a month early was that it's still try-out season by the time he gets to New York.

In the end, he barely lasts a day before he calls Kevin and agrees to meet him. After reading Jean’s letter, and seeing how healthy and happy Kevin looks in person, Neil feels hope for his own recovery.

Weeks of badgering later, Kevin finally manages to convince him to try out for the New York Giants. Unsurprisingly, Neil earns a spot on the team.

What _is_ surprising, however, is that Andrew also tries out. Neil’s still not sure if Kevin ever managed to close his jaw after Andrew signed the contract.

Neil also never manages to move out of Andrew’s apartment. He tries once, out of courtesy and fear of overstaying his welcome, but Andrew simply says ‘why bother?’ and then proceeds to take him to adopt cats. Now Neil can’t leave. Literally. There’s a cat sitting on him.

 

-

**SEVERAL MONTHS LATER**

 

Allison and Renee’s wedding is a dramatic affair, but not for the reasons you would suspect.

When the priest says, ‘Speak now or forever hold your peace’, Andrew doesn’t stand up to object. He does, however, glance at Neil and give him some wicked side-eye.

No, the drama comes during the reception. That’s because Allison invited all of the Palmetto State Foxes, which included Andrew’s twin brother, Aaron.

“I see you brought a plus one.” Aaron states simply as he approaches Andrew. A beautiful woman, about half a foot taller than Aaron, has her hand resting in the crook of his elbow.

Andrew’s arm tightens around Neil’s waist and he says, “I see you brought a plus two.”

Neil frowns until he realises what he means. Aaron’s wife has a noticeable baby bump.

“You’re going to be an uncle.” Aaron says. “I think we should talk.”

Katelyn, his wife’s name turns out to be, walks with Neil over to the buffet so they can give the brothers some privacy as they hash things out. She’s nice enough, but before he can get into too deep of a conversation with her, a familiar voice cuts in.

“Nathaniel?”

Neil turns around and freezes.

“Jean.”

  
-

Neil proceeds to get very, very drunk after talking to Jean. Which doesn’t take much, considering he’s never drank in his entire life.

“You know,” he says as he tugs off the tie from his suit, “You were right.”

“Right about what?” Andrew says from where he’s face down on the hotel bed.

“About your brother. You’re hotter. And better dressed.”

Andrew rolls over and quirks an eyebrow at him. “I thought you never looked at someone and thought, ‘oh, they’re hot’.”

“Well I guess that changed, since I think that about you every day.”

“Shut up, you’re drunk.”

 

-

**ONE YEAR LATER**

 

“And that, children, is why you never go for a walk without your radio.”

Twenty boy scouts sitting cross-legged in the grass all have varied looks of mortification and fear on their faces. One of them is even crying. Andrew’s supervisor is face palming from the distance, probably questioning why he ever let him take on this summer job during the off season. It probably had something to do with him being a famous Exy player, and it bringing good PR for the campsite.

Neil rounds the corner, an evergreen sapling bundled in his hands from the Shoshone rejuvenation project. Dirt is smeared up his arms and across one of his cheeks. He takes one look at the kids and then shoots Andrew a look.

“Stop telling people I’m dead!”

One of the kids screams when he sees Neil and passes out. The one that was crying before starts crying even louder.

Andrew simply looks through him and says, “Sometimes I still feel like I can hear his voice…”

 

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to all of my beta readers, [moonix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/), [lolainslackss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolainslackss), [puddlejumper99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddlejumper99), and to everyone who left comments and kudos on this story while it was being uploaded. Checking my inbox and reading what you guys think about this story is honestly the highlight of my day and the first thing I do when I wake up in the mornings. You guys are amazing, thank you!
> 
> Now that this is over, I'm going to go back to writing my Kevin/Neil fake dating fic, [Heavy Dirty Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15304647). Thank you to everyone who's been so patient while I've been finishing off and posting Push to Talk! 
> 
> Once again, if you liked this story, please let me know in the comments or by [reblogging](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com/post/183434852749/pushtotalk-ch1)! Feel free to say hi on tumblr too [@alexjosten](https://alexjosten.tumblr.com) ♡


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